


as ever

by pinkfen



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Domestic Bliss, Fluff, Jealousy, Kids, Light Bondage, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Smut, Time Travel AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:47:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28990203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkfen/pseuds/pinkfen
Summary: The last thing Mark sees before he closes his eyes is Johnny at forty-nine, and the first thing he sees when he opens them is Johnny at six.
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Kim Jungwoo, Mark Lee/Suh Youngho | Johnny, Park Jisung & Zhong Chen Le
Comments: 28
Kudos: 163





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rework of my got7 fic of the same title, and *I have also reworked it one other time for nomin titled ‘7 days a week’ so it’s possible you might have read it before*. This is the ONLY fic I decided to, and will ever, rework twice. I didn’t undertake this decision lightly; it’s been many months since it first occurred to me that this fic would fit the specific pairing of johnmark as perfectly as it fit nomin, in terms of the characterisation. Also, because I wrote it for a rare pair in got7, since I first wrote this fic in 2014 until now, it in fact didn't get many got7 readers. Please don’t be nasty or unkind about it, if you’ve already read the nomin version by any chance, just move on and let other readers who haven’t read enjoy it too :) after all, this is my creative and intellectual property and I can decide what to do with it; I laboured to write it back in 2014 and it’s true I want as many people to read it as possible bc it’s actually the fic I’m proudest of having written in my life so far. I’ve received such warm support from johnmark nation, I knew that I wouldn’t be judged whatever I decided to do, and that’s the reason I could lay down my hesitations and do what I wished to since the time last year when it occurred to me how well mark and johnny would also fit into this fic, compared to any other nct members. I won’t ramble on too much, but I hope you enjoy :)

2, 42

Even before Johnny was old enough to know what a guardian angel was, he already knew that he had one. He didn’t know how to say the words yet, how to even talk or make any sounds except incomprehensible gurgling. The airplane and clouds mobile that dangled above his baby cot was his entire world, and he didn’t understand the concept of angels but he just knew instinctively that he had one, an invisible and protective being watching over him from nearby. He could sense his presence in the warm ripples of the air, fingers that were not his parents’ tucking the blankets under his chin when he was asleep and brushing across his cheeks so gently Johnny almost mistook them for the wind. Sometimes, Johnny thought he could hear a soft, sweet voice singing lullabies in another language, sounding like the melodic strains of a far-away radio.

*

6, 48

Johnny is building a sandcastle in the field behind his family’s house, his nanny having left him alone for a few minutes to run back and fix his tea. A rustling in the nearby shrubbery disturbs the tranquil afternoon quiet, and Johnny looks up, his eyes widening to see a man climbing out of the bushes, twigs and leaves caught on his clothes and hair. Johnny’s spade slips from his hand, and he gets to his feet unsteadily.

The man lowers himself into a crouch so his eyes are level with Johnny’s, but makes no move to approach. “Don’t be afraid,” he says, and his eyes are kind. “Youngho-yah.”

It’s the way the man says his name that stops him, like he knows Johnny, like he’s said it a million times before, everyday. The man is elderly, almost as old as Johnny’s grandfather, shoulders hunched in a slouch. But the fine lines around his twinkling eyes crinkle youthfully as he smiles.

"Hyung,” he says, and Johnny frowns in confusion because he doesn’t understand why this man who is obviously ten times his age is calling him hyung. Johnny is the baby of his family and all his cousins are older than him. This is the first time he’s ever been called hyung and he’s not sure he likes it. But he has no time to protest as the man continues, switching from Korean to another language Johnny doesn’t understand.

As the man speaks, his eyes fill with tears that overflow and spill down his cheeks. Johnny doesn’t know why this strange man who just popped out of a bush and knows his name is crying, but he knows that he shouldn’t talk to him, that he should run away. His parents have warned him about talking to strangers. But there is something about the warmth of the man’s eyes that makes him take a hesitant step forward, afraid but curious.

A surprised smile breaks through the man’s tears, and he looks like he wants to come closer too but holds himself back. “You were always so brave,” he says in Korean. “But don’t be _too_ brave, okay?"

Johnny doesn’t know what he’s talking about, or how this man would know anything about him when he hasn’t seen him before, but he just nods because he sounds like Johnny’s parents. When he reaches out a timid hand to wipe the man’s tears away, he finally takes a minuscule step towards Johnny, closing the distance between them by a fraction. He is raising his own large, wrinkled palm to meet Johnny’s when his nanny’s shout echoes across the field. “Youngho, come and have your tea!"

They both drop their arms, startled. The man looks disappointed but resigned as he inclines his head towards the house. “Run along, then.” He doesn’t make a move to touch Johnny, but his voice seems to hold a thousand invisible caresses.

Johnny shuffles his feet uncertainly, knowing that if his nanny comes out and finds the man they will both be in trouble. So he reluctantly swivels on his heels and breaks into a sprint across the grass, towards the familiar open backdoor of his house. But he can feel the weight of the man’s gaze still watching him, and can’t resist turning to sneak a glance. The man is still crouching in the same position, too far to make out his expression but he lifts a friendly hand in a wave.

The second time Johnny looks back, he’s gone.

*

8, 39

Two years later, Johnny sees the old man again on the road home from primary school. He is dressed in a flannel jacket and plaid slacks and seems to materialize from behind a tree. For some reason, he looks younger, his posture more erect, but the way the fine lines fanning from the corners of his sparkling eyes crease into an impish smile is unmistakable, unforgettable. As is the way he says Johnny’s name, like the words are an enchantment, a prayer.

"It’s me,” he continues urgently, eyes searching Johnny’s. “Mark."

When Johnny doesn’t reply, the unfamiliarity of the name throwing him, the man groans and buries his face in his hands. “I’m sorry, I’m making a mess out of this, aren’t I? Please don’t run away. I swear, I’m not a scary man –"

"I won’t,” Johnny interrupts, and the man stops short, looking stunned. “You’re not scary,” he says, hoping he sounds daring and impressive.

The smile that lights the man’s face up is the only thing that hasn’t changed. “Thank you,” he says quietly, and this time he reaches out to ruffle Johnny’s hair gently. Johnny feels like his pet kitten as he nuzzles instinctively into the man’s touch, feeling bereft the moment he withdraws his hand.

The man takes a deep breath. “Let me start at the beginning. My name is Mark, and I’m –” he stops, seemingly struggling to find the words to go on.

"I know who you are!” Johnny declares triumphantly, and Mark looks surprised. “W-who?"

"You’re my guardian angel, right?” Johnny replies confidently, pleased with himself. Mark barks out a laugh.

"Angel?” he repeats doubtfully. “I’m no angel, but I guess that’ll do... for now.” He looks like he wants to say more, but is silenced by the look of utter contentment on Johnny’s face. “I knew it!” he says smugly.

They reach a traffic light, and Mark takes Johnny’s hand when he tries to dash across the road, his grasp gentle but tight with worry as he admonishes sternly, “Watch out for cars!” Mark’s hand is large and callused but warm, swallowing Johnny’s smaller one effortlessly. He doesn’t let go even after they’ve crossed the street, lacing their fingers together and swinging their joined arms all the way as he walks Johnny back home.

"Angel ahjussi,” Johnny blurts out bluntly, “Why is your hair black now? The last time, it was greying.”

Mark laughs nervously, running a hand through his hair. “The last time? God, I’m sorry. I didn’t know we met before. Again. I thought this was the first time. The last time.” He stumbles over his words, stopping abruptly and looking relieved as they reach Johnny’s front door.

Johnny is disappointed, but he hears the noises of his mother bustling in the kitchen, preparing his after-school snack, and knows that Mark has to leave. Johnny knows that it’s not right for him to be talking to a stranger, especially someone so old, that it might even be dangerous. But he doesn’t know how to explain the feeling of unconditional safety he gets from Mark, the unaccountable certainty that Mark would never, ever hurt him. No one else would understand this blind trust even if he told them. He wants to ask, when is the next time I’ll see you? but instead puts his hand on the gate and pushes it open.

"By the way,” Mark says as he’s halfway across the front yard, and Johnny’s heart leaps as he turns around to look at him. “Don’t call me ahjussi,” Mark mumbles, his smile sheepish. “It makes me feel old.”

*

11, 40

”Mark,” Johnny breathes the next time he sees a dark figure looming over his bed, eyes luminescent in the moonlight. It’s a muggy summer night and Johnny had kicked off his blankets restlessly, starting awake when he felt the weight of a hand tugging them up. It’s not the first time he’s felt a shadowy presence when he’s drifting into sleep at night, but this time the apparition inhales audibly in response.

"You remember me,” he says, voice thick and eyes glistening suspiciously bright. Johnny nods and sits up, throat dry. He can count on his fingers the number of times he’s thought of Mark during these three years, wondered if he would ever come back, wondered how and where he was, even wondered if he was just a figment of Johnny’s imagination. But now he is standing at the foot of Johnny’s bed, looking solid and real and anything but.

Mark’s eyes comb over him with a penetrating intensity that makes him shiver. “How have you been?” he asks, voice low, and Johnny swallows over the lump in his throat. “O-okay."

He hovers a respectful distance away, seeming afraid to approach, and Johnny boldly shifts to the side of his bed and pats the space beside him. “You can sit down."

Mark edges tentatively forward, and Johnny catches the white flash of his teeth in the dark. The mattress dips as he sits down beside Johnny, and the warmth radiating from his body reassures Johnny more than anything that Mark is just as human as he is.

"You’re growing up so fast,” Mark says fondly. “The last time I saw you, you were only this tall.” He places a hand in the air barely a foot over Johnny’s bed, and Johnny flushes. “I wasn’t that short!"

Mark chuckles and ducks from the pillow Johnny hits him lightly with. Although Mark is an elder, he doesn’t seem to mind Johnny’s roughhousing and Johnny doesn’t feel the uncomfortable need to be respectful and formal with him like his parents and other adults. There is something so youthful, so childlike about Mark despite his appearance that makes Johnny forget his age.

Suddenly, the smile slips from Mark’s lips and his face visibly pales, even in the dim. “Youngho,” he says, clutching Johnny’s hand unexpectedly. “I’m sorry this is so abrupt, but I have to tell you the truth. You’re old enough now."

"Old enough for what?” Johnny breathes. The exhilarating light in Mark’s eyes, the rabbit-quick thump of his pulse in his wrist makes Johnny feel like he’s on the verge of a life-altering discovery, that the next words Mark says will change his life forever. And they do.

"I have a... power,” Mark says delicately. “I can... I can travel through time."

Johnny’s jaw drops as he gapes at him, dumbstruck. This is starting to feel like an extremely vivid dream, but the tightness of Mark’s grip on his hand keeps him tethered to reality.

"You mean... you’re from the f-future?” he chokes out, palms suddenly clammy. It had been one thing when he thought Mark was a mysterious but benevolent celestial being, his bodyguard from the heavens, even when he had grown too old to believe in things like angels or Santa Claus. It’s another for Mark to possess supernatural powers straight out of sci-fi, far too close to the realm of ghosts and spirits for Johnny to be comfortable.

Johnny thinks he’s being subtle, but Mark flinches at the way he recoils minutely in fear. “Not exactly,” he manages a weak laugh. “Well, yes... I’m from a couple of decades later, but still in this lifetime. I’m sorry,” he adds, seeing the way Johnny’s eyebrows knit. “I know it’s confusing."

Confused is the least of what Johnny is feeling right now. Mostly he’s torn between a mixture of shock and disbelief, and the hope that this is a very bizarre nightmare he will wake up from any time now. Mark reaches out towards him, but before Johnny can think he snaps, “Don’t touch me."

Mark winces, stung, as if the words are arrows, and Johnny is immediately flooded with guilt. Betrayal and anger at Mark for blindsiding him like that battle inside him, but Johnny clings on to logic and common sense and tries to convince himself that this is a horrible practical joke, that any second Mark will burst out laughing and shout, “Gotcha!"

He takes a deep breath. “Prove it."

Mark looks at him, his eyes filled with so much sadness that it takes Johnny’s breath away. “Okay,” he says softly, and then right before Johnny’s unblinking eyes, Mark disappears.

*

12, 45

Johnny has imagined this scenario so many times that he can no longer differentiate between dreamscape and reality: the next time Mark appears in his world, in his time. He has thought of a million different things to say, ranging from sarcastic to apologetic to cold to indifferent, but when Mark finally appears it’s the next summer and almost a year has passed, and Johnny finds that he is unable to lie about the only emotion he has been honestly feeling – missing.

Because not one of these three hundred and sixty-five days had passed without Johnny thinking of Mark, wondering where he was right now, how old he was, if he was safe and happy, if he was thinking of Johnny the way Johnny was thinking of him. Sometimes he felt uncomfortably jealous when he pictured Mark travelling to visit other times, other boys, while others he just felt worried when he realized that other people might not be as accepting of Mark’s strange power as he was, that they might ostracize or even capture him to a lab to examine and experiment. He ricocheted violently between a vast spectrum of positive and negative feelings, sometimes wishing he had never met Mark, and others feeling like meeting Mark was the best thing that had ever happened in his short life. His parents assumed he was going through the usual phase of adolescent angst and growing pains, but Johnny knew that it was all Mark’s fault that Johnny took hours to walk home from school because he was checking behind every tree, that he was late for class and fell asleep during lessons because he lay in bed every night tossing and turning as he searched the flickering moonlight for a familiar shadow. It was senseless and stupid because Mark was just a creepy old man Johnny had met thrice and had claimed he could time-travel, and Johnny had no reason to be so attached to him.

But then he thought of the brilliant warmth of Mark’s smile, the temperature of his hand and how carefully it had held Johnny’s as they crossed the road, the sadness in his eyes as he looked at Johnny, like Johnny was so beautiful and precious that it made him want to cry. No one had ever looked at Johnny like that before in his life. The only time he had seen a look like that in anyone’s eyes was the way his father looked at his mother when he thought Johnny wasn’t watching.

Of course, Johnny doesn’t leap into Mark’s arms the moment he appears that summer afternoon when Johnny is sprawled in his bedroom after school. Even though he wants to, Johnny is no longer the six or eight-year-old who can be freely affectionate without shyness. Now, Johnny is self-conscious and reticent, glowering rebelliously at Mark as he hesitantly approaches.

“Youngho?” Mark whispers uncertainly, his eyes beseeching. “I’m sorry. If you don’t want to see me, I’ll go."

He moves towards the window, and Johnny shouts sharply, stopping him in his tracks. When Mark turns back, there’s a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"You’ll break your neck,” Johnny says roughly, trying to preserve his dignity. “It’s the second floor."

Mark’s lip twitches, a bemused smile tugging at the corners. “Are you worried for me?” he asks brazenly, advancing towards Johnny’s bed as Johnny shrinks against the wall and scoffs nervously. “Yeah, right."

Mark looks so disappointed that it throws Johnny, making him blurt out, “What took you so long to come back?"

The words hang in the silence between them, sounding far too needy and spoilt, and Johnny curses inwardly. But Mark just looks at him seriously, his eyes regretful as he closes the last few steps between them and perches gingerly on the edge of Johnny’s bed. “I’m sorry,” he says, and the sincerity in his voice stirs something deep in Johnny’s chest. “I’ve been trying to come back to this time for the past five years. But unfortunately, it’s not something I can control.” He laughs wryly, but Johnny can see the way his hands are clenched helplessly in the sheets, his knuckles pale.

Five years. That explained why Mark looked noticeably older than the last time Johnny saw him, more than a year older, his temples dusted with ash. So what had been one year for Johnny had been five for Mark. Mark had spent five years not knowing whether Johnny had forgiven him, not knowing that Johnny wasn’t even angry at all. And if this year had been interminable for Johnny, then it must have been unimaginably more so for Mark.

A pang of guilt stabs Johnny’s chest. If only he had been more mature back then and not judged Mark so harshly, if only he had not let anger cloud his senses and said the words Mark needed to hear before he left. He can’t bring himself to spit out the words I'm sorry, but Mark seems to read the look in his eyes like a book as his own soften.

"Oh, Youngho,” he says, curling his arms around Johnny’s body. “It’s okay. It’s not as if I didn’t see you for five years. I just didn’t see _this_ you."

Mark’s eyes sparkle conspiratorially, and Johnny’s heart catches. Does that mean that Mark will travel to him more times in the future, or even that in Mark’s time, Johnny is there, too? Contemplating the mechanics of how it works makes Johnny’s brain hurt, so he quickly fires at Mark, “Where are you from?"

Mark looks surprised by his urgency, but smiles indulgently. “Canada.”

Johnny scrunches up his face, more confused than ever. He’s never been to Canada, and all he knows about it is that it’s a country far away from Korea. “How do you know how to speak Korean then?” he interrogates.

Mark’s smile broadens sheepishly. “You taught me,” he confesses.

Johnny’s mouth falls open. “Me? When?” he croaks.

"When I was a little boy,” Mark replies softly, his eyes distant and clouded until they meet Johnny’s and seem to refocus. “Youngho-yah,” Mark says simply. “I’ve known you all my life."

Johnny struggles to digest this. Mark is so old, older than Johnny can count on his fingertips. It’s impossible that he could’ve known Johnny for so many years when Johnny is merely twelve. But if Mark says so – Johnny looks at the smile on his face, open, honest, as if he can see into all the little crevices of Johnny’s heart, and he believes Mark.

"Why do you call me hyung?” Johnny continues questioning relentlessly. Mark has been here for more than an hour, longer than he’s ever been before, and Johnny knows that the clock is ticking. He can see it in the way Mark’s lips have lost their colour, his smile unflagging but his hands twisting anxiously in the folds of his grey shirt, the way he looks like he might be swept away by a gust of wind any minute if Johnny doesn’t hold on to him tight.

Mark’s laugh is weak but genuine. “Because in our time, the real one, you’re one year older than me.” He tweaks Johnny’s nose playfully.

"One year older?” Johnny gasps. He can’t imagine being older than Mark, maybe taller so Mark will have to look up at him, respect him, just as smart as Mark so he’ll be able to talk to him as an equal, maybe funny too so he can make Mark laugh. Maybe the Johnny who is a year older than Mark is strong and powerful and handsome, sweeping Mark off his feet, instead of his bumbling, childish twelve-year-old self.

"Johnny,” Mark murmurs, and Johnny snaps out of his reverie to see Mark disintegrating into thin air before him, just as unbelievable as the first time, even more mindblowing in the light of day. “Hyung –” Mark starts, the rest of his sentence swallowed by silence until only his imploring eyes are left, and then those too fade away.

*

13, 46

“Miss me?” Johnny leaps out of his skin when he hears a familiar voice trudging home listlessly from school on afternoon, and he whips around, unable to believe his eyes when he sees Mark, looking almost exactly the same as he did the last time, his smile even more impossibly blinding than the one burned into Johnny’s memory.

This time, Johnny throws his arms around Mark breathlessly, breathing out a laugh of sheer happiness and relief. Before Mark can say anything else, Johnny is dragging him authoritatively down a shortcut in a nearby lane towards a deserted mossy riverbank. The water of the lake glistens in the sunlight, so clear they can see straight into the transparent depths. They settle down on the soft bed of moss, sighing in satisfaction.

Over the course of the past year, Johnny has spent days and months compiling a list of questions that he wants to ask Mark the next time they meet, but the moment they do, they seem to fly out of his head. His mind is dazedly blank, bleached empty by the dazzling starburst of Mark’s grin, which seems to steal and reflect all the light from the late afternoon sun.

They quickly exchange ages, which has unconsciously become their routine every time they meet now. Johnny is indescribably relieved that this time, the gap between their meetings is nearly the same for both of them. He doesn’t know what he would do if this Mark had been a younger one, one who had not yet explained the truth to Johnny. Johnny doesn’t know how he would even begin to clarify all the convoluted events that have happened to a clueless Mark. He has spent a year thinking and investigating Mark’s skill, drawing complicated diagrams and equations, but Johnny is no closer to comprehending it than the first day Mark had told him. After all, he’s only thirteen.

More than any physics textbook could, Mark has taught Johnny about the relativity of time. Now, the principle that time passes fast when one is doing something one likes and slowly when one is doing something one doesn’t finally makes sense to him. Because when Johnny is with Mark, the hours seem to fly by, racing past in idle chatting and playful banter. Time seems to expand when he’s with Mark – although throughout the years, Johnny can count the number of hours he’s spent with Mark on one hand, these hours seem to magnify infinitely, every minute and every second so precious and treasured, etched into his mind that they encompass a life. When Mark is not around, the minutes seem to drag by interminably, the hands of the clock crawling like a snail. Johnny thinks that Mark might not only have the power to travel through time, but to stop it too. Because when they are together, time freezes, and every time Mark leaves, Johnny feels like a tiny lifetime has passed.

*

14, 31

Johnny doesn’t tell anybody about Mark, not even his parents or his best friend Doyoung who he has no secrets from. Mark hadn’t sworn him to secrecy, but Johnny knew that was because Mark trusted him unconditionally, and it made him swell with importance. Whatever happened, Johnny would never do anything to jeopardize Mark’s safety or make his flights through time even more fraught with peril.

When Johnny pushes open the door of his bedroom one day after school, he nearly screams to see Mark sitting on his bed looking more than ten years younger than the last time they met and dressed in a ridiculous white tuxedo, praying fervently with his head between his knees.

Mark looks up, panic flashing across his eyes as he hisses, “Shhh.” He motions for Johnny to close the door, and finally heaves a sigh of relief when he does. Mark is pasty and sweating profusely in the tightly-buttoned suit, and an unreadable look crosses his eyes as Johnny sidles closer warily.

"H-how old are you?” he rasps, and clears his throat.

Mark smiles lopsidedly, one end of his lips tugging up. “Thirty-one."

Johnny inhales softly. Of course, he had known that Mark had been young once, but he had never imagined how... how _handsome_ he was when he was young. He had never expected that he would be able to see a younger Mark than the sweet, harmless elderly man he was accustomed to. Because at thirty-one, Mark is dangerously good-looking, his eyes still unlined and face smooth, creamy pale skin flushed intoxicatingly and eyes feverishly bright with an inexplicable excitement. But he doesn’t forget to always take care of Johnny’s comfort first as he pats the bed beside him and Johnny sighs and settles down a careful distance away, hoping the hammering of his heart isn’t as deafening to Mark as it is to him.

"Sorry, I’m kind of freaking out right now,” Mark explains sheepishly when Johnny raises an eyebrow.

"What’s with the suit?” Johnny deadpans, and nearly chokes on the sip of water he’s just taken when Mark replies with a shaky grin, “I’m getting married."

"Married?” Johnny echoes, stupefied. “To who?” The words slip unconsciously from his mouth, his brain still unable to register the fact that Mark – Mark who is suddenly not the kindly old man that Johnny has always known but unimaginably young, young and thrillingly beautiful – _Mark_ is getting married.

Of course he is. Why would such a warm-hearted, attractive person be short of admirers? Johnny had always known that Mark had a whole life of his own in his time, that Mark had a whole other life that Johnny didn’t know a thing about, that he had no part in. Naturally, Mark would have a job and a pretty girlfriend too, like any other adult man. And now, naturally, he was getting married. There is nothing surprising about it, and yet Johnny wonders what is this piercing knifelike pain between his ribs.

Mark smiles enigmatically, but Johnny doesn’t know why he sees a tinge of sorrow. “Sorry, I can’t tell you."

"Whatever,” Johnny mutters stonily, and shifts away from him on the bed, unable to understand the feeling of intense loss plunging through him. He had almost forgotten that Mark was no one to him – not his friend, family, or loved one. He was merely an apparition visible only to Johnny, and only once a year. Theirs was a relationship that could never see the light of day, that existed only in the realm of dreamland.

But Johnny doesn’t know what is this bitter feeling in the back of his throat driving him as he tugs roughly at Mark’s sleeve. “Teach me English,” he orders, and Mark blanches. “Now?"

Johnny narrows his eyes at Mark, not expecting him to lower his eyelashes meekly and comply obediently. Johnny rummages in his messy room for his textbook and curls up in Mark’s lap, leaning against his body like a chair although he knows that he’s grown too heavy and big and is squashing Mark. Johnny wishes he could ground Mark to this world so easily, prevent him from leaving by physical force. But he knows that the only one who holds real power here is time, and they are but pawns being tossed in its merciless hands. He knows that when the moment comes for Mark to leave, he will be transported back to his original life, back to his wedding to someone who isn’t Johnny, can’t be Johnny. The thought stops Johnny cold because why would he even think of marrying Mark? Even if they were presumably the same age in Mark’s world, they were both male. Up until today, Johnny had never even seen Mark as anyone but an old man, for god’s sake.

Mark pinches his cheek. “Pay attention,” he chides, and Johnny quickly snaps back to earth.

“I love you,” Mark is saying, and Johnny repeats it mindlessly, confused by how Mark’s entire body stiffens against his at the words, his eyes stricken as they lock with Johnny’s, like Johnny has just said something momentous, devastating.

"What does it mean?” Johnny gulps, but feels the warmth of Mark’s body fading intangibly against his, the textbook slipping from his fingers until finally all that Johnny is sitting next to is empty, cold air.

He picks up the book, paging frantically through it as he painstakingly tries to locate the three words. When he finds them, the Korean characters beside them make the textbook slip soundlessly out of his hands this time.

*

15, 29

Johnny has a growth spurt between the ages of fourteen and fifteen, and when he’s walking across the courtyard after school one afternoon he frowns to see a commotion at the gates.

“Youngho-yah, your hyung is so hot!” Jimin gushes as she flounces past him with her gaggle of girlfriends and Johnny’s heart lurches. He doesn’t have an older brother.

Johnny’s footfalls quicken in trepidation as they near the school gates, his stomach plummeting when he hears a familiar, distinctive deep voice, grandstanding in fluent Korean to a handful of adoring girls.

Johnny runs a nervous, clammy palm through his hair, wetting his lips and untucking his uniform shirt casually as he steps out of the gate, and then he is looking down at Mark in surprise, towering over him as Mark squints up at him uncertainly. “Johnny?” he says in disbelief.

Not only is Mark shorter than him now, he’s also younger than Johnny has ever seen him, his smile easy and careless, so beautiful it almost hurts to look at. Instead of the usual sensible, unremarkable clothes he’s worn on previous occasions, today Mark is dressed in a baseball cap, jersey and skinny jeans, looking as much a teenager as Johnny.

But Mark obnoxiously reminds him that he is nearly twice Johnny’s age, to Johnny’s chagrin. He feels like Mark is saying it more to remind himself, because he’s been sneaking wary glances at Johnny since they left school to walk downtown to the arcade where Mark promised to treat Johnny to spicy rice cakes, face falling when Johnny bluntly asked if he had money.

To his surprise, Mark digs into his pocket and triumphantly fishes out a few dog-eared won. Johnny’s mind races as he considers the implications of this. Does this mean that at the age of twenty-nine, Mark is in Korea? When did he travel there from Canada, and was it a permanent move? Most importantly, was Johnny still in the picture?

A million questions bubble up impatiently on Johnny’s tongue, but he knows that if he voices them out Mark will only deflect them deftly, changing the subject and gently but firmly refusing to divulge any information about the future, laughing when Johnny begs, growing cool if he loses his temper. “I can’t mess with history or influence your free will,” Mark says resolutely when Johnny insists, “I need to know."

"Why do you keep looking at me?” Johnny eventually blurts out, more irritated with his traitorous heart for flipping and flopping in his chest like a fish out of water than Mark’s timid lash-veiled glances.

Mark swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Sorry,” he laughs, and suddenly Johnny is also annoyed with the way Mark is always apologizing for everything, like he has committed some unpardonable wrong towards Johnny, like Johnny is a stranger he has to stand at courtesy with.

"It’s just that... I’ve never seen you this young,” Mark is saying. “Fifteen,” he mutters under his breath, then lets out a low whistle. “Wow."

"I’ve never seen you this short,” Johnny retorts sarcastically, which earns him a slug on the arm. “Watch it,” Mark warns.

"How’s the air down there?” Johnny sniggers, and Mark snarls, dropping his composed adult demeanor. “Suh Youngho, get back here!” he yells, chasing Johnny down the street like a little kid.

*

16, 15

”My God,” Johnny murmurs hushedly when he gets within recognizing distance of the other boy on the street, and can make out his features. From afar, there was already something uncanny about him, but Johnny hadn’t dared to believe something so impossible, hadn’t allowed himself to hope.

Mark’s hair is shaggy, falling into his eyes and he’s dressed in a school uniform of white collared shirt and navy pants, similar to his, his top button undone and the noose of a striped tie loosened around his neck. A name tag with English characters is pinned to his breast pocket.

Mark takes a few steps back, looking overwhelmed as Johnny sprints towards him. There’s an uncertainty in his eyes that Johnny hasn’t seen before, a flicker of fear. Mark is always so confident and assured, never revealing a hint of the displacement and whiplash he must be feeling at being thrown abruptly into a different time, but this Mark is so obviously bewildered, so achingly young that it goes straight past Johnny’s defences.

“Youngho hyung?” Mark’s voice is shaky, the word catching in his throat with disbelief. “Is that you?” His eyes search Johnny’s desperately and he reaches out a trembling hand as if to touch Johnny’s face, but pulls away quickly.

Johnny nods, his own throat closing. He still hasn’t figure out how the mechanics of time travel works, but deduces swiftly that Mark must not have met his younger self before he was a teenager, and is relieved that Mark seems to have met his older self already. They’ve always been able to slip back relatively easily into an effortless tandem every time they met, no matter how jarring the disparities between their prior memories and history, catching up each other on the empty spaces. But this time, both of them are equally young, equally clueless and there is no one to take charge and be the mature one here, the one who prevents the other from falling apart at the sheer magnitude of this incredible phenomenon they are caught in. Till this day, Mark was always the one who took care of him, whose undimmable smile made Johnny feel that everything was alright, no matter how dire the circumstances seemed. It’s kind of unsettling seeing Mark just as vulnerable and lost as he feels, but Johnny realizes that this time, he will have to take charge.

He notices that Mark is shivering in the wintry draft, that his uniform shirt is flimsy and thin, almost translucent, and guesses that it must be summer in Canada. Johnny strips off his own school blazer and drapes it over Mark’s shoulders, and unwraps his scarf, winding it around Mark’s neck until the only things visible above the fraying wool are Mark’s curious, bright eyes.

"Let’s go,” Johnny says softly, and takes Mark’s hand wordlessly. Mark’s hand is smaller than Johnny remembers, soft and toasty, trusting and unresisting as it curls back around Johnny’s with an impossible familiarity. As they walk home, the chilly November winds rip unforgivingly through the air, but Johnny can’t even feel anything except the heat radiating from Mark’s skin, spreading like electricity up the nerve endings of his arm.

"Where are you coming from?” Johnny demands the moment they are sequestered in his room and Mark is sitting on the bed, looking oddly fragile and small amidst the ocean of sheets, unwrapping Johnny’s scarf from around his neck.

"2010,” Mark says, naming the year Johnny is in, and Johnny gasps. He hadn’t known it was possible for Mark to travel to a different place in his time. Then Mark says, “September,” and his heart plummets in relief.

"Of course it’s impossible.” Mark laughs out loud when Johnny tells him that for the first time, they’re finally in the same universe. “I’m a time traveller, not God. I can’t split myself in two.” He rolls his eyes and Johnny laughs too, breaking the ice. It’s still the same Mark, with his sharp tongue and infectious laugh, although his shoulders are narrower than Johnny has ever seen them, his frame pubescent and slight and his hair mussed and windswept hopelessly.

"Were you in school?” Johnny gestures to Mark’s attire, and Mark groans. “Right in the middle of biology class. It’s cool, though. I’m sitting in the last row, and Jungwoo’s got my back."

Jungwoo. It’s a name that Mark has mentioned on a few occasions, and Johnny had gathered that he’s a friend of Mark’s. But he never knew that he was Mark’s high school classmate, that he had had Mark for so many years, lived in the same world, the same time. Johnny feels a startlingly piercing knife of jealousy.

"Who’s Jungwoo?” he asks casually, and Mark replies easily, “My best friend."

It’s the smile on Mark’s face as he says the words that does Johnny in – a smile he hasn’t seen before, so boyishly wide that it makes Mark’s eyes crinkle into crescents. It’s a smile that makes him look about ten years old, such a beautiful, mischievous smile that Johnny is suddenly seething with an inexplicable unfairness that it isn’t directed at him.

"Your best friend, huh?” he repeats, voice low, and Johnny doesn’t recognize the mocking note in his voice. Mark hears it too, eyes widening as Johnny crosses the room in two strides and settles down beside him, the bed dipping as he squeezes Mark against the wall.

"Did you ever – with him –” Johnny chokes out, and Mark looks confused.

Abruptly, Johnny reaches out to brush Mark’s lips with his fingertips, and Mark jumps and jerks away, shocked. “Did you ever let him...” Johnny spits out, and his heart sinks like a stone when Mark doesn’t meet his eyes.

"It was just once!” Mark protests, looking stricken as Johnny takes his chin roughly and lifts his face up. He squirms away, flushed with guilt, but Johnny clambers over him, bracing his arms on the bed and trapping Mark between them, so close that their bangs catch together with static.

"It was a mistake,” Mark continues babbling. “I hadn’t met you yet, this you, and I didn’t know you were so – so – God, what am I saying?” Mark looks close to tears, precariously pale, and Johnny is afraid he’s slipping. He should know better than to be so careless, than to agitate Mark when he’s so inexperienced and obviously not in control of his impulses yet.

Mark raises glimmering orbs to his. “Can you forgive me?"

It’s not that Johnny can’t forgive Mark, because Johnny will forgive Mark for anything he says or does, had already forgiven him the moment the words left his mouth. It’s just that he can’t control how his vision flashes white hot at the thought of another boy, this _Jungwoo_ , noticing the way Mark’s eyes sparkle like shards of rainbow glass and his lithe pantherlike grace, kissing those lips that look so soft, putting his hands on Mark’s wiry, supple body -

"Hyung,” Mark says huskily, and his voice licks through Johnny’s veins, igniting his blood like wildfire. Johnny is bewildered by the emotions that are rising up uncontrollably within him. His feelings towards Mark had always been placid, peaceful warm ones of security and friendship. Johnny had always looked forward to Mark’s visits. But somewhere along the way, his heart had started speeding up in anticipation, his palms cold and clammy in a way that was undeniably no longer platonic.

When had respect and admiration turned into animal attraction? He had never thought Mark could make him feel such passion and intensity, and the way heat is pooling in his stomach, making his cock twitch hungrily as Mark’s tongue slips out to lick his dry lips is completely unfamiliar to Johnny. Johnny doesn’t know how to handle this, doesn’t know how to handle Mark who is suddenly dangerous and terrifying, a beautiful grenade ticking down in Johnny’s shaking hands. It’s wrong, sacrilegious, and Johnny struggles to reconcile this gorgeous boy lying beneath him to the fatherly figure who has wisely guided and counselled Johnny all his life.

He sees the conflict in Mark’s eyes too, the way he’s reeling with shock at these new and unexpected emotions. Johnny has always loved the way Mark is so transparent, every single thought he’s feeling playing across his expressive eyes like an open book. He loves the way Mark is like spun silk; as lovely and seemingly fragile but actually unbreakably strong. He loves the way Mark is so vibrant and captivating and intense, like a supernova explosion Johnny wants to capture and possess with his own bare hands. He loves Mark.

"I can’t get you out of my mind,” Johnny whispers, pained. “When I’m eating, sleeping, breathing – you’re all I think about."

The smile that breaks across Mark’s face is blinding, lighting it up like the sun. Johnny hates that cocky grin, how Mark just waltzes into his life every time, sweeping through it like a hurricane and leaving Johnny wrecked and gasping. He curls his fingers into the fabric of Mark’s collar, buttons popping as he rips it open aggressively to reveal the expanse of porcelain white skin at Mark’s delicately wrought collarbones. “Take responsibility,” Johnny says, breathing heavily.

Mark answers by cupping a strong hand on the nape of Johnny’s neck and hauling him down for a clumsy and wet but enthusiastic kiss, their teeth knocking and noses bumping awkwardly at first but finally fitting together so perfectly that it feels like worlds colliding on their axis and shifting into place. Mark spreads his legs and wraps them around Johnny’s waist, and when Johnny settles between them he can feel how hard Mark is and how much he wants Johnny, exactly as much as Johnny wants him.

"I can not believe this,” Mark says, voice raw and post-coital as he runs tapered fingers through the strands of Johnny’s hair. “The last time I saw you, you were a grandpa. Now you’re a teenage boy with dyed blond hair fucking me.” He groans. “This is so fucked up. How am I going to face you the next time?"

Johnny laughs, prying Mark’s hands away from his face. “Maybe give me a blow job?” he tries hopefully, and ducks away from Mark’s outraged fists.

Johnny tries to pretend he knows what he’s doing, but in reality he doesn’t any more than Mark. They’re just teenage boys, full of testosterone and hormones, thinking with their dicks before their brain. It’s easy to get caught up in the heady sensation of meeting at the same age for the first time and mistake it for romance, but the only thing Johnny knows for sure is that what he feels for Mark is not a fluke. It might have seemed hasty, but Johnny knows that it was the right decision. Because they are preternaturally engaged in a losing battle against time, snatching stolen moments from it whenever they can. Even if they never meet again; even if they never meet in the capacity to be able to touch each other physically again, Johnny will never forget the subliminal sensation of Mark’s bare body curled up in his arms, the temperature emanating from his skin lighting up every cell of Johnny’s body like a scorching fire.

*

17, 32

The moment Mark materializes in Johnny’s room, he immediately senses that something is wrong. Johnny has no time to even wipe a rough hand over his damp face or attempt to cover his red eyes and spiky lashes, before Mark is striding up, eyes tight with concern.

"What’s wrong? Did something happen at school?"

Johnny jerks away. Mark is dressed in a beige cashmere sweater, looking adult and infuriatingly beautiful and unattainable. He sees the tremor of Mark’s fingers before he pulls the sleeves over his wrists to hide them and knows that their time is limited, that he should reassure Mark before he is snatched away. But Johnny is tired of being selfless and self-sacrificing, tired of putting on a brave face and pretending that it doesn’t hurt like hell every time Mark is torn away from him. He’s only seventeen, seventeen and in love with a person who doesn’t exist in his life yet, in love with _Mark_ , and everything is too unfair.

The past year has been a tumultuous one. Johnny has spent his time alternating between wishing passionately to see the teenage Mark again and hoping that if he does appear, it will be after fifteen. Because Johnny doesn’t think he can handle meeting an innocent, oblivious Mark, still blissfully unaware of his feelings and the enormous development in their relationship that has taken place. And then he feels like an idiot, because who else has to worry that their boyfriend has forgotten that they’ve had sex, besides really old people with Alzheimer’s or senile dementia who wouldn’t even be having sex in the first place? Thinking of Mark as his boyfriend sends a delicious chill down Johnny’s spine, and then he feels like a moron again for getting all worked up because Mark doesn’t even exist in his world, technically. He’s like one of those losers with imaginary girlfriends.

“Youngho,” Mark pleads now, for once dropping the -hyung, and it oddly comforts Johnny how Mark somehow knows that this time, he has to be the patient one here because Johnny is being petulant.

Johnny gives in too late, finally turning back to face Mark as the warmth of his fingertips disappears from Johnny’s face, the words I missed you falling into empty air, unheard.

*

18, 33

It’s been exactly three-hundred and sixty-five days, according to the countdown on his calendar, and Johnny thinks it’s safe to say that Mark is avoiding him. He has never stayed out of Johnny’s life for so long before, and Johnny feels a sinking dread in the pit of his stomach and again regrets the cold shoulder he had given Mark. Why had he tried to act tough, to act like he didn’t want to see Mark when he was burning for his touch? But there was once – Johnny has an inexplicable conviction that Mark had appeared near him once a few months ago, but hidden himself from Johnny. Johnny has no proof of this except that he seems to have developed a Mark radar, detecting his presence like gravity pulling matter to the earth, like a sunflower listing towards the sun. He had clenched his fists and waited for Mark to appear, laughing and teasing Johnny, in the end giving up and calling out desperately into thin air, “Mark! Mark-yah!"

A few birds nearby took flight, and a few passersby stared at him and walked away quickly, but Mark didn’t come out.

*

19, 33

The next time he senses the unmistakable feeling of Mark’s presence, Johnny thinks grimly, desperate times call for desperate measures, and kicks into the plan he had meticulously calculated down to the smallest detail. He knows he has to act fast, before Mark drifts away, but in the end, nothing works the way he predicted. There are no cars on the nearby street, the only vehicle chugging slowly down the sunny afternoon asphalt a big, worn bus.

Johnny swears and throws himself in front of it anyway. Agreeably, the driver leans loudly on his horn and slams on the brakes. The bus screeches to a halt just as a blurred figure streaks across the street and pushes Johnny away, landing hard on him as Johnny sprawls backwards, scraping his elbows on the granite.

Johnny looks up, dazed, to see that his plan has worked as expected, and Mark is leaning over him, his eyes dark with worry and his hands running urgently down Johnny’s body. “Are you okay?"

Johnny nods, his throat tightening with relief, and Mark swivels around to glare at the bus driver lividly. He flips him off, giving him a piece of his mind about assholes who didn’t look out for pedestrians while driving. The driver bristles indignantly. “What the hell? That brat just dashed out –"

Mark silences him with one withering glance and turns back to help Johnny to his feet, fussing over him and practically carrying him all the way home.

"Why did you do that?” Mark says angrily the moment they get back to his room. “Don’t think I don’t know that it was your fault. I was watching the whole time."

"The whole time?” Johnny drawls, throwing his words back at him, and Mark blushes hotly.

Johnny relents. His motive was to lure Mark back, not to humiliate him. “I wanted to make you come out,” he admits honestly.

Mark’s mouth falls open. “How did you know –"

"I could feel you,” Johnny says quietly. “You’re so obvious."

Mark throws a pillow at him, looking crestfallen. “Shut up."

Johnny laughs, catching it. “How many times did I miss?” he can’t help asking.

Mark’s eyes are soft and questioning as they look up at him. “Only once,” he assures. “As far as I know."

"I was a fool,” Johnny says harshly, and Mark bites back a smile. “My fool,” he agrees.

"Where are you coming from?” Johnny asks with a mischievous glint in his eyes later as they lie in his bed, bracing himself over Mark and smoothing the matted hair away from his face. “Do they have robot computers yet?” he muses, when what he really means is, _Do you still feel the same?_

"You know I can’t tell you,” Mark laughs, eyes on his as he brushes Johnny’s fingers with his lips. _As ever_.

*

20, 34

When he walks into Mark in the dusty stacks of his university library, Johnny drops his books. Mark is dressed in a dark green shirt with a logo that reads Nakamoto Music emblazoned across the breast pocket and coughing a little, waving away dust particles from the stack of books that he knocked off the shelf when he landed.

"Is that where you’re working?” Johnny blurts out, and Mark hurriedly slaps a sheepish hand over the uniform. Johnny shakes his head and picks up his textbooks. “Come on.” He inclines his head, and Mark trails after him obediently.

The moment they get back to Johnny’s cramped dorm room and confirm that his roommate is out, Johnny locks the door and slams Mark against it hard. Mark licks into his mouth with equal intensity and a missing that rivals his own. Johnny struggles to pull off Mark’s shirt and Mark fumbles with his belt, their mouths still latched on to each other’s as they stumble towards the bed and fall onto it, Johnny wrestling Mark beneath him.

"How old are you?” Johnny whispers beside Mark’s ear when they are lying spent in his tiny, rickety bed, legs tangled together and sheets sweaty. It’s the first time he’s neglected to ask this question immediately after Mark arrived, but he was just too swept away by the lust that overtook him. Or maybe Johnny was dreading hearing the answer.

Because Mark is significantly older than the last time he saw him – older than the day he got married. Johnny hasn’t allowed himself to think about this fact since sixteen, has been in denial about the fact that Mark is a married man. Even though he knows that he has to be fair, that Mark is allowed a life of his own that doesn’t involve Johnny, it’s just so, so hard to face the knowledge that the Mark lying in Johnny’s arms and smiling drowsily up at him, his body slick against Johnny’s, slick with Johnny’s cum, belongs to another person. Actually, it feels like a piece of Johnny’s heart is being torn out of him.

Of course, Johnny had never forgotten that day at fourteen when Mark had told him he was marrying someone else. Because of course it had to be someone else, right? Mark – knee-bucklingly gorgeous and unattainable Mark Lee couldn’t be marrying Johnny. If he had, he would’ve told Johnny a long time ago. Mark wouldn’t do that to him, wouldn’t make Johnny go through the heartache and heartbreak of unrequited love.

Johnny had thought Mark wasn’t that kind of person. But now, he thinks he isn’t so sure anymore. Because if Mark is married to someone else, what is he doing sleeping with Johnny? Even though it’s in a different time, Mark’s feelings shouldn’t have changed. Is this just a fling for him, something he doesn’t have to be responsible for because he’s only visiting? Is he just playing with Johnny? The thought makes a bitter coil of anger surge in Johnny’s stomach, but he struggles to tamp it down. He doesn’t want to ruin a single precious minute of Mark’s short-lived visits with negative emotions.

But when Mark quietly answers, “Thirty-four,” Johnny’s heart still plummets. His next words strike Johnny like blows. “We’re naming the kids. What do you suggest?"

It’s the easy, natural way he says We that kills Johnny, that tells him more than anything how happy Mark is with his wife, lover, whoever the fuck it is who has the unbelievable luck of being married to Mark Lee. Technically, We might also refer to Mark and himself, but Johnny tells himself not to be stupid before he can go down that train of thought. Mark might be a prankster, but he wouldn’t be so twisted to pull such a sick prank on Johnny.

At this point, Johnny feels downright nauseous, pulling away from under Mark’s heavy body to turn to face the wall so that Mark can’t see any of the thoughts playing across his face. Johnny racks his brain for the most random name he can think of. “Lele,” he says viciously, and shivers as he feels a draft attacking his bare back.

When he turns around to see only tangled linen and empty space, without a trace, Mark is already gone.

*

20, 30

When Johnny sees Mark the second time that year, he thinks it’s a figment of his imagination conjured up by his alcohol-addled brain. After all, Johnny has been spending the past few months after Mark’s last visit more drunk than sober. Even Doyoung had given up on advising him, disgusted. Maybe Mark had somehow sensed that he needed help and appeared in Johnny’s times of need like he always did – but that’s impossible. Johnny laughs bitterly. Even if he knew and could control his travelling, Mark wouldn’t care. He had never cared about Johnny the way Johnny cared about him.

But – twice in a year. Even in the haze of alcohol, Johnny realizes what a miracle that is. They’ve never met with such frequency before. Johnny wonders what this means, if it’s just a one-time fluke or if Mark will be appearing in his life more often in future. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to deal with his heart breaking all over again every time.

Mark walks right up, striding through the bar towards where Johnny is blearily squinting at him and snatches the half-empty beer bottle from Johnny’s hand. “Suh Youngho, what are you doing to yourself?” Mark curses, his furious face swimming in Johnny’s vision.

"You need to wake up,” Mark says, slapping his face lightly with his hands the moment they enter Johnny’s dorm room. The place is a shithole, his roommate getting steadily more and more fed up with how he stank up the room with cheap liquor and unwashed clothes and finally moved out. Johnny grabs Mark’s hands with both of his own and doesn’t let go even when he struggles. “How old are you?” he demands, a glimmer of hope lighting up in him when Mark replies reluctantly, “Thirty."

So _this_ Mark isn’t married yet. Johnny isn’t sure what he’s doing as he pushes Mark backward onto the bed and straddles him, stripping off his shirt and unzipping his fly, sliding an insolent hand up Mark’s stomach. All he’s sure of is that this might be his last chance to make Mark his, to possess him and brand him with painful marks sucked into the delicate skin of his neck and fingers pressed into his hipbones hard enough to leave purplish blue.

Johnny knows that it’s mean and underhanded, and not only that, he’s coming perilously close to altering the course of history. He had asked Mark if he had tried before, but Mark had only shaken his head solemnly. “I don’t dare to. What if it changed the trajectories of our lives forever? What if we never met?” he had breathed, fingers fisting helplessly in Johnny’s shirt at the thought. But he can’t help it because the thought of a whole life ahead of him waking up every morning to the knowledge that Mark belongs to somebody else is too bleak for Johnny to bear. He has no other alternative.

So Johnny takes a deep breath and leans over Mark, pinning his gaze with his. “Mark-yah,” he says, words hoarse and foolishly brave with alcohol. “Will you marry me?”

It’s spontaneous and unplanned, and Johnny almost regrets the question the moment it leaves his mouth. He has no ring or anything to offer Mark, who he is a decade younger than and hopelessly inferior to. His eyes are dull and bloodshot and nowhere as near as expressive as Mark’s, which are shining like glass, glittering and overflowing with tears that Johnny anxiously wipes away with the pads of his thumbs. “What’s wrong?” he panics, running worried eyes over Mark’s body. “Did I hurt you anywhere?"

"No,” Mark says, hitting him lightly, and his smile catches Johnny’s breath in his throat. “It’s just... I thought you’d never ask."

Johnny is so confused right now, but the happiness overwhelms everything. He can’t believe that Mark agreed, that he had been waiting for Johnny to ask. Did that mean – could that possibly mean that the person Mark had said he was marrying was... Johnny?

Johnny doesn’t dare to broach the question, afraid of the answer, but even more afraid of the enormity of what they are attempting to challenge. Who was he to think that he could take time into his own hands and determine the course of history, change their fate? He knew what he was in for when he had fallen in love with Mark. Like time, Mark was unpredictable, volatile and flighty, unable to pin down.

They look at each other, so many unspoken questions and answers in their eyes, and Mark eventually says softly, “Just be patient a bit more, okay? Next year – that’s when it all happens."

"W-what happens?” Johnny swallows, his throat so dry he can barely speak.

Mark smiles cryptically. “It’s the year we meet,” he says, squeezing Johnny’s arm. “All four of us: you, me, Jungwoo and Doyoung. It’s when it all begins."

"H-how –” Johnny stutters lamely, unable to process this information. Jungwoo and Mark are coming to Korea? And Mark knows Doyoung?

Mark laughs breathlessly. “The day after I met you at fifteen, I dropped everything and started working hard towards coming here. It took me three years to convince Jungwoo to go to Korea for university after high school."

Johnny gapes at him, struggling to absorb the revelation that Mark had wanted so badly and worked so hard to meet him, crossing continents and oceans the way he had crossed time. He had done so much for Johnny, more than Johnny had ever done for him.

"Oops,” Mark says, biting his lip and raising his eyes to the ceiling. “Should I not have said that?"

His irresistible, crooked smile makes Johnny laugh out loud. “I guess we’re going to get divine punishment then. But for you...” he caresses Mark’s cheek, watching the way a blush blooms beneath his fingertips. “It’ll be worth it.”

*

21, 20

When Johnny sees Mark in the batch of freshmen entering their university for orientation, he doesn’t have to disguise the way his eyes widen and his knees grow weak with shock. Because seeing Mark out of the orbit of time for the first time is completely mind-blowing, every bit as heart-stopping as the first day. There’s a solidity to Mark, an opacity that is different from his time-travelling self, which had always felt too transient, too easily crushed in Johnny’s arms.

Johnny can’t take his eyes off Mark as he strides across the room confidently, his arrogant swagger capturing the gaze of everyone he passes. He is flanked by a spacy-looking pretty boy, who gets an equal amount of attention to him but in contrast looks utterly unaware of it.

Doyoung nudges Johnny, a familiar predatory look on his face that makes Johnny’s stomach clench uncomfortably. “Who’s _that_?” he swoons breathily.

"Mark Lee.” Mark sticks out a hand as he walks up, keeping his eyes on Johnny's as he takes it, swallowing. Mark’s hand is warm and strong, callused, but his dark eyes have none of the hardness of his handshake and every bit of the softness Johnny remembers. He tries to control his expression, but neither Doyoung nor Mark’s friend (who will later introduce himself as the infamous Jungwoo) notice, too busy mooning at each other with goo-goo eyes.

Johnny pulls some strings, namely paying off his roommate with an exorbitant sum to move to Mark’s room so Mark can move in with Johnny. So they become roommates, sharing a cramped, dreary shoebox that smells like dirty socks and has textbooks strewn all over the floor, but because Mark is there, it’s heaven.

Johnny can’t believe that after so many years of waiting and longing, they can finally love each other openly, with the acknowledgement of others and blessings of their friends. He wants to be around Mark as much as he can so he can take care of Mark when he comes back from his trips, and help to keep Mark’s secret. Mark is always so brickheaded and wilful, wanting to take on everything himself, but Johnny knows that Mark is more vulnerable than he lets on.

By this time, they’ve started to learn to get used to Mark’s ability, the way families of handicapped people get used to their disability, shaping and building their lives around it the best they can. The years have taught Johnny how to be as familiar with the signs of impending travel as Mark is: when Mark abruptly turns ashen and jittery and starts shaking and sweating uncontrollably. They’ve realized early on that they can’t control it, but can do their best to nurture an environment that is conducive to discouraging it. When Mark feels calm, peaceful and safe, he’s less likely to travel. Agitation, alcohol or other stimulants and sudden mood swings seem to aggravate it, the last of which Mark finds it hard to refrain from with his natural lively temperament.

"What does it feel like?” Johnny asks one day, wondering why such an important question had taken him so many years to ask. It feels like something he should have asked Mark at the start, but the years had flown by so unnoticeably, and he had been so swept up in Mark that it hadn’t occurred to him.

Mark laughs, brow creasing as he tries to find the words to describe it. “It’s... amazing,” he finally says, shaking his head in wonder. “It feels like... like exploding into a million tiny particles and freefalling through the milky way, then being joined back together again."

Johnny considers this thoughtfully and winces. “Sounds painful."

Mark smiles wistfully. “It’s an indescribable experience. I wish I could take you with me."

Johnny smirks. “Better than kissing me?” he teases, and Mark bursts out laughing.

"Well, maybe not,” he concedes, winking.

*

22, 21

Mark had waxed lyrical about the thrills of time-travelling, but he had conveniently left out the negative aspects. Now that they are living together, Johnny witnesses the effects travelling wrecks on Mark, and sees the ugly side that he had neglected to mention clearer than he ever has. Because Mark isn’t superhuman. He is merely mortal, and wasn’t designed to contain such a superpower. Time travelling is a power that is too enormous and overwhelming for Mark, for anybody. Johnny wonders who was the one who had decided to place such a weighty burden on Mark’s narrow shoulders.

Johnny helps Mark into bed after a frat party where Doyoung had taken Mark and Jungwoo without his knowledge. When he arrives there, Mark is already intoxicated and Johnny is furious, turning on Jungwoo. “Why didn’t you stop him?” he growls, and Doyoung stands up unsteadily and shields Jungwoo with his body, offering him a beer. “Come on, lighten up a little!” he giggles. “You’re such a stick-in-the-mud."

Johnny pushes him away, disgusted, and grabs Mark below the arms and drags him staggering back to the dorm. When he heaves Mark onto the bed, he’s already shuddering helplessly, teeth chattering. Johnny quickly gets in beside him and pulls two layers of blankets up around them, pressing his frame against Mark’s to give him body heat.

"Hyung,” Mark murmurs, registering him through hooded, murky eyes. “Hold me till I go.” He closes his eyes again, but not before Johnny sees the naked fear that flits through them.

As he crushes Mark tightly in his arms, already praying for his safe return, this might be the instant Johnny realizes exactly how harrowing and risky time-travelling is for Mark.

*

23, 22

The longer the months stretch on without Mark time-travelling, the more hopeful Johnny feels. Coming to Korea, to Johnny has seemed to stabilize Mark’s travelling for some reason, giving him roots and anchors. As the bouts between Mark’s trips grow longer and more infrequent, they are lulled into a false sense of security. It seems almost possible that one day, Mark will be able to stop travelling altogether.

But just as they are getting complacent, an incident happens to shake up their idyll. Mark materializes in their room one night, hours after he disappeared and which Johnny had lain awake for, worry eating and gnawing at him. Mark usually manages to be quiet about his reappearances, but this time he has lost all composure, moaning and keening in pain. Johnny scrambles out of bed and crouches beside him helplessly. “Markie? What happened?"

Mark cradles his leg, face paper white, and Johnny’s heart squeezes to see blood seeping through his pants. He quickly but carefully rips Mark’s pants down the length, inhaling sharply to see a nasty wound gushing blood at an alarming rate.

"I trespassed on private property. He had... a gun...” Mark says between clenched teeth, and Johnny’s mind flashes white with rage. “Who? Who did this to you?” He’s going to skin them alive, the fuckers who had dared to touch a hair on the head of his precious Mark.

"I don’t know,” Mark mutters, breath coming in uneven spurts. “They were speaking like, Greek or something."

"Holy fuck,” Johnny breathes. Mark had never really told him about his travels to other countries, only mentioned them in passing, and Johnny had no idea of the threat they genuinely posed. But he quickly snaps into action, studying Mark’s wound but not daring to touch. “This is bad,” he says softly, not wanting to frighten him. “I think you need to go to the clinic."

"No!” Mark says vehemently, clutching at his arm. “They’ll ask questions –"

"We have to get the bullet out,” Johnny says grimly, and lifts Mark up into his arms, squirming and protesting weakly. “Listen to me,” Johnny starts, his heart stopping as he looks down to see that Mark has lost consciousness.

*

24, 23

Knowing the full extent of Mark’s risks now, Johnny starts worrying more. Actually, he buzzes around Mark, nagging and fretting tirelessly until Mark loses his patience and calls him a mother hen. But Johnny doesn’t care whether Mark is yelling or pissed at him, as long as he’s here.

Mark doesn’t really wear cut-off khakis and bermudas nowadays, ever since the scar from his gunshot wound and the subsequent operation healed to form an ugly brown gash. Johnny always makes sure to lavish butterfly kisses over it, reassuring Mark that he is still beautiful, that Johnny will never love him any less. He is almost too paranoid nowadays, suspecting that Mark is travelling at the slightest provocation.

They are lazing in bed one morning, late for classes and debating whether to cut them, when Mark starts shaking in his arms. Johnny looks down, a cold vice clamping over his heart, but it’s just Mark rumbling with laughter, thrumming and vibrating with his usual nervous energy. Mark is so vital and inexhaustible that it wears Johnny out sometimes, and leaves him feeling like he’s taken one too many rollercoaster rides.

"What if –” Johnny starts, but Mark interrupts him with a loud sigh, knowing what he’s going to say.

Mark’s eyes are impatient and exasperated, but his voice is soft as flannel as he brushes his knuckles across Johnny’s face. “Hush,” he says, flashing that happy-go-lucky smile. “Don’t worry. I’m a lucky bastard.”

*

25, 24

They move in together after Mark graduates from university, pooling their meagre savings to rent a small but cozy apartment. Johnny has gotten a job as a salaryman in a production company with his major in film arts, while although he could have had better prospects with his degree in music, Mark starts work at a record store selling musical instruments, occasionally filling out for absent instructors at the studio there. But the main reason why he picked the job is that the owner Yuta, who was a classmate in their university, doesn’t ask too many questions when Mark abruptly has to take off in the middle of the day.

"Yuta’s a cool dude, man,” Mark muses one day when he comes home after work, his eyes glinting with something like respect, and Johnny tries to keep his face smooth and expressionless. “Oh, really?” he remarks casually, taking a long swig of his champagne.

Mark narrows his eyes at him. “Oh my god, you’re jealous, aren’t you?” he crows childishly, and Johnny blanches. “No."

"You totally are!” Mark trills gleefully. “Oh man, you are so cute.” Johnny frowns menacingly at him and growls, which only makes Mark clutch his stomach and laugh harder.

*

27, 26

When they go on double dates with Doyoung and Jungwoo (who are ones to speak since Jungwoo has moved to Korea and gotten a job as a stunt choreographer here for Doyoung too), they tease Johnny and Mark for being one of those inseparable Siamese twin couples, even after so many years. Johnny smiles and doesn’t say anything, because they’re right. He doesn’t plan on ever letting Mark out of his sight.

Mark rolls his eyes. “He’s impossible to get rid off. I guess I’m saddled with him.” But he squeezes Johnny’s knee under the table to soften the words.

Johnny covers his hand and squeezes back. He knows how contrary Mark is, how he will never admit it but is guilt-stricken and thinks he’s a burden to Johnny, thinks that Johnny deserves someone better, deserves a normal life. But what Mark doesn’t know is that Johnny doesn’t want normal.

He wants Mark.

*

32, 31

“Holy shit,” Johnny breathes in relief as Mark crashes through the doors and bends over panting, an hour after he disappeared from the dressing room where they were helping each other put on their white tuxes. Mark usually reappears at the same place he disappeared, but they’ve noticed that when he’s nervous or upset or going through any intense emotions it gets a little screwed up. Today, Johnny hopes it’s because he’s so happy he feels like throwing up.

"I thought you were going to leave me at the altar,” Johnny jokes, but can’t hide the edge of real alarm in his voice.

Mark laughs breathlessly, but his eyes are serious and his voice low and steady as he vows, “Never."

"Where were you?” Johnny can’t help sulking a little, and Mark smirks.

"I was teaching a little brat English. It’s all his fault that I’m late. He just couldn’t get one phrase right –” The rest of his sentence is muffled as Johnny steals his lips in a brief, sloppy kiss.

“I love you,” Johnny finishes as he breaks away, and Mark’s face lights up in a breathtaking grin.

Doyoung sweeps in with Jungwoo on his heels, their expressions a study in contrasts. Jungwoo looks unperturbed and calm as usual as he ushers Johnny to the side door leading to the front of the chapel, while Doyoung’s face is as pale and wan as he fixes Mark’s bow tie distractedly and hustles him out of the one leading to the back. “Hurry, you’re late!"

Johnny stumbles towards the podium with the box of rings in his sweaty hand and climbs unsteadily up, clearing his throat as the pastor’s disapproving eyes sweep over him. He runs anxious fingers through his hair and straightens his tie, when suddenly the heavy wooden doors creak open, pure white light flooding into the sanctuary. Johnny turns to see Mark tripping in, clutching a bouquet of baby’s breath and looking equally terrified out of his wits but wearing a desperately happy grin and tender pride shining fiercely from his eyes as steps down the aisle, closing the distance between them.

*

33, 32

Johnny tries not to take it too personally when Mark vanishes from his arms halfway into Sunday morning, when they are dressed in matching coffee-coloured cashmere sweaters and curled up together lazily on the couch indulging in each other and a romantic comedy.

Mark reappears just before the closing credits, when the male and female lead are sharing a cheesy smooch. He looks slightly dishevelled but otherwise unchanged, but the look in his eyes makes Johnny mute the TV and give him his full attention. “When?” he says simply, and Mark chuckles wryly.

"I’m not sure. But you looked really young. Sixteen, maybe?” he estimates. “You were crying. I didn’t have enough time to find out why."

Johnny shifts across the couch to pull his tense body into his arms and Mark reluctantly relaxes. “I’m sure it was nothing, just teenage angst,” he reassures, stroking a hand soothingly down Mark’s back until he feels Mark melt against him.

"It was the first time I’ve seen you that upset,” Mark says in a small voice, breath hot against Johnny’s collarbone.

Johnny sighs and racks his brain, feeling the dim stirrings of a distant memory. “Oh, that time,” he laughs. Mark looks up eagerly as he continues, “I was just... throwing a tantrum. I was seventeen and gay and in love with somebody I technically hadn’t even met yet and it was just... too much to take."

Instead of looking relieved, a stricken look chases over Mark’s face. He pulls away from Johnny, shrugging off Johnny’s arms when they try to encircle him.

"You don’t deserve this.” Mark’s voice is rough, his eyes not meeting Johnny’s, and Johnny’s heart drops. “You’re too good for me."

"Mark,” Johnny starts, unable to contain the fear and desperation in his own voice. “No, never –"

"You idiot,” Mark says in English, but the way he caresses the word might as well have meant _darling_.

*

34, 18

When Johnny returns to his office after lunch to find Mark sitting behind his desk, in his chair, he quickly closes the door behind him and frowns. “What are you doing here? Did you play hooky again? Yuta is going to be so pissed."

"Who’s Yuta?” Mark asks, and Johnny belatedly notices that he’s dressed in a school uniform that Johnny has seen once before, when he was sixteen, and looks visibly younger than the Mark Johnny had dropped off at work that morning, so obviously a different person that Johnny wonders how he could’ve missed it.

"How – why – How old are you?” he stammers, head spinning. The deceptively angelic grin on Mark’s face as he stands up makes Johnny take a stuttering step back.

"Eighteen,” Mark says, advancing. He walks right up to Johnny, unnervingly close, and scrutinizes him with narrowed, appraising eyes. “How old are _you_? God, you’re hot,” he says, and the words go straight to Johnny’s cock.

"Too old for you,” Johnny says brusquely, trying to hide the way Mark’s compliment makes him want to roll around in glee. “Even if you’re legal. You’re not lying about your age, are you?"

Mark laughs, loud and bold in the quiet office, and Johnny quickly clamps a hand over his mouth. “Shhh,” he whispers furiously, and Mark glares at him. Johnny releases his hand, and Mark scoffs indignantly, “No. I’m graduating in a few months."

"Oh,” Johnny says doubtfully. Mark looks achingly young, but his hair is cut in a shorter style than at fifteen, and he does look slightly more mature, in incomprehensible ways Johnny cannot pinpoint. His ears are newly pierced with a row of glinting silver hoops that weren’t there before and Johnny frowns disapprovingly, feeling like a conservative parent. He’s probably too used to seeing the current, adult Mark that he’s confused. “Okay, I’ll believe you temporarily."

"So who’s Yuta?” Mark presses impatiently. Johnny gulps. He’s not as experienced at this whole keeping things a secret and not messing with history thing as Mark is, and predictably slipped up. “No one,” he replies smoothly, the skeptical look on Mark’s face calling out his lie.

Mark hadn’t told him that he had travelled to Johnny’s office at eighteen. If he had warned Johnny, he wouldn’t be so taken by surprise now, unprepared and shaken by Mark’s sudden arrival. He had probably done it on purpose, Johnny rages. He had plotted with his teenage self to ambush Johnny, corner him and make him make an irreversible mistake. Well, he wouldn’t fall into their trap.

But for all his posturing, the boy perching on Johnny’s desk, watching him closely can’t hide his immaturity, his vulnerability. Johnny finds it difficult to suspect or hold anything against him as he brushes snowflakes off Mark’s hair, already melting. “Is it snowing there?"

Mark jumps at his touch, startled, but then tentatively allows Johnny to touch him. He reminds Johnny of the cautious kitten he had as a child. It’s the second time Johnny has seen Mark so young and impressionable and he is determined not to take advantage of him and give in to his feelings the way he did the first time.

But Mark seems to have no such qualms as his fingers close around Johnny’s tie and he tugs Johnny bodily forward roughly, bringing their lips within an inch of each other. Johnny’s palms land hard on the table as he catches his balance, scattering documents.

"I’ve been waiting for three years,” Mark swears under his breath, his lips seeking Johnny’s desperately. Johnny grips the edge of the table hard and tries to pull away, but Mark’s grasp on his tie is unwavering.

Eventually, Johnny stops struggling and succumbs to the sheer, carnal pleasure of Mark’s lips and tongue sliding insistent and skilful against his, doing things that Johnny wonders with shock and a twinge of jealousy where and who he had learnt from. Johnny trails his tongue down Mark’s piercings and bites his earlobe, drawing a whimper and tells himself he’s not strong enough to resist Mark, when in actual fact he knows that he could easily overpower Mark in a heartbeat. It’s just that he doesn’t want to. Johnny is a coward, always letting Mark take responsibility for the difficult actions and initiate the leaps of courage.

There is something illicit, something thrilling about kissing eighteen-year-old Mark while his thirty-three year old self is working miles away at a record store in town, oblivious and unaware of what Johnny is doing at this very moment. Johnny has never been into voyeurism or weird kinks like that, but he imagines Mark coincidentally really bunking off work and walking in to find a schoolboy with his white-socked, knobbly legs wrapped around Johnny’s hips, panting into his mouth, which Mark probably wouldn’t recognize as himself at first.

Would he feel the way Johnny felt all the other times when the person he was jealous of turned out to be himself? Would he laugh and strip off his clothes, joining in? Johnny is hauled back to earth by Mark’s impatient hands sliding under his suit jacket, undoing the buttons of his work shirt and splaying flat against his bare chest. Mark’s lips curl smugly at the way Johnny’s heart speeds up erratically.

"Hey, hey,” Johnny says sternly, sensing things slipping out of his control but trying to remain calm. “Keep it above the waist, okay?"

"What?” Mark looks dismayed, like Johnny has just announced the end of the world. “But what about this?” He grabs Johnny’s hand and brings it to the tented crotch of his pants, and Johnny hastily recoils, stung, but not before he feels the throbbing heat of Mark’s cock through the thin fabric, not before it manages to make him just as porcelain hard.

"Hyung," Mark rubs his body against Johnny’s cock and whines, in that familiar tone that Johnny knows by now is deliberate, that one Mark knows Johnny can never say no to. This time, he’s not getting his way.

Johnny untangles Mark’s interlocked arms from around his neck with difficulty, ignoring the way Mark’s pupils are blown so wide his eyes are almost entirely black, glassy and unfocused, the way his lips are sinfully swollen and parted, awaiting Johnny’s own. He backs away unsteadily, holding Mark’s wrists together with one hand as with the other he strips off his tie, holding one end between his teeth as he knots the other tightly over Mark’s wrists.

Before Mark can struggle or say anything, Johnny is on his knees before the desk, spreading Mark’s thighs with his hands and lowering his mouth to Mark’s cock. “Ah!” Mark gasps almost painfully as his cock hits the back of Johnny’s throat, his hands grabbing Johnny’s shoulders tightly for support.

Mark’s eyes are closed in ecstasy, and Johnny can’t stop himself from unzipping his own fly and reaching into his briefs to touch his own aching cock, pumping a rough hand over it to the rhythm of Mark’s muffled moans and spilling over his fingers as Mark comes down his throat crying _Youngho hyung_.

"Can we just cuddle then?” Mark pouts later, as if he hasn’t just made Johnny break probably ten laws, and Johnny smiles and lifts him off the desk, cleaning him up and straightening his uniform. He doesn’t want anyone, especially Jungwoo, seeing Mark like this when he gets back. Even though by now he knows Jungwoo is with Doyoung, he doesn’t want to risk awakening old feelings.

After that, Mark curls up in Johnny’s lap in his chair, work forgotten, and Johnny cards his hand through Mark’s hair, stroking languidly until he falls asleep with a contented smile still on his face. Impulsively, Johnny presses a chaste kiss to his damp forehead. When Mark jerks awake, eyes anguished as he starts fading, Johnny is still holding him.

*

35, 34

“I cannot believe this.” Johnny heaves a dramatic sigh. “I was twenty. I wasn’t ready to have kids, or even imagine having a family! And I was pissed off at that time."

"Sure seemed ready to screw me and propose,” Mark counters calmly without missing a beat. “Be a man and be responsible for your actions."

Johnny groans. “We are not naming our kid Chenle,” he says flatly.

"Come on, it’s not so bad,” Mark coaxes. “Look, he’s so cute he’ll be able to pull it off.” He shoves the portfolio of the younger boy they are adopting from China, filled with adorable pictures that they have spent all morning cooing over. “Plus, you already named the other boy."

The other boy was a few months younger, and came from a Korean orphanage. He didn’t have a name, so Johnny had picked Jisung. It was a name he always wanted to give his son, and he could’ve picked something equally pretty for the other boy if only Mark weren’t so stubborn. Not for the first time, Johnny bemoans his teenage self.

*

36, 35

Mark disintegrates literally halfway through a particularly hard thrust, and Johnny is left with an unresolved boner and a head full of worry. He knows it’s his fault, that he shouldn’t have been so rough, should’ve seen the warning signs when Mark’s cries started sounding more agonized than pleasurable. But he had forgotten to hold back for once, and sure enough, Mark hadn’t been able to withstand it. He was always bragging and waving away Johnny’s fears, calling him a worrywart and whining and whimpering _faster, harder_ , pushing Johnny to his limits. Johnny was sure as hell not going to let him live this down when he got back.

By the time Mark returns, still nude, Johnny has thankfully gotten rid of his erection and is sitting in an armchair smoking a cigarette with his legs crossed and looking appropriately judgmental. But the words that come out of his mouth are not reproachful but gentle. “Are you okay?"

Mark laughs and grabs Johnny’s shirt, pulling it on. “Yeah, besides the fact that I’m dying of embarrassment. I think I scarred that woman for life when I appeared in her daisy fields buck naked. Luckily she fainted, or I’d have a great time explaining why my ass is leaking cum.” Mark snickers, looking more devilish than embarrassed.

"Someone saw you?” Johnny says sharply, raking his gaze down Mark’s bare body. “A woman saw you?"

Mark snorts and chortles loudly, his eyes laughing at Johnny. “Relax, hyung. She was like, eighty."

"Ah.” Johnny sags with relief, then studies the way Mark looks in his shirt with interest. “She’ll deal. Now get back to bed, we’re not done yet.”

*

41, 40

Sometimes Johnny wakes up alone, his hand fumbling sleepily over the other half of the bed to find it empty, sheets bunched up. He tries not to let his mind wander too pessimistically as he climbs out of bed and goes to attempt the daunting task of waking up the kids, who are six years old, absolutely perfect and have too much energy for their own good.

Will he ever get used to this? Johnny wonders as he prepares breakfast, burning the toast and overcooking the eggs. He doesn’t think so. Even after decades, it’s still as discombobulating and disorienting as the very first day. And if it’s as difficult for him as this, it must be ten times worse for Mark.

Johnny is brooding and pensive as he gets the boys ready for school, pulling on Chenle’s uniform carelessly until he squeaks in protest, “Appa, my shirt is inside out!"

When he looks down at Chenle’s sailor nursery uniform, it is indeed. He quickly apologizes and is putting it on straight when Mark walks into the house, smile bright and carefree as if he’s oblivious to the fact that Johnny has spent the whole morning agonizing over him.

"Where were you?” Johnny snaps, the low note in his voice making Mark stop in his tracks, eyes widening.

"Just at the market, picking up some groceries. Why?"

"Why didn’t you leave a note? Do you know how... how worried I was?” Johnny chokes out, voice thick, and Mark’s eyes soften as he drops the bags and swiftly crosses the room, taking Johnny into his arms and patting his back soothingly like he’s one of the kids. “Oh, honey,” he murmurs contritely in Johnny’s ear. “I forgot. I thought I’d be back before you woke up."

"Don’t ever do that again,” Johnny says fiercely, wrapping his arms around Mark so tightly he gasps for breath, and Mark nods against his shoulder, making wordless comforting noises in Johnny’s ear.

"Appa, daddy,” Chenle tugs on his arm as Jisung makes barfing faces. “We’re late for school."

"Oh, right,” Johnny clears his throat as they sheepishly detach. Mark is blushing in embarrassment and it’s the most adorable thing he’s ever seen, instantly dissipating his anger. But he keeps his voice gruff as he bends to help Chenle wear his bag and tie Jisung’s shoelaces. “I’ll drop them off at school.” He looks up at Mark. “You coming with us?"

Mark melts into a dazzling grin, flashing two rows of pearly white teeth. “Sure. Just let me throw the milk in the fridge."

Johnny tosses the keys in the air and catches them as he leans against his car. It’s a six-seater family wagon, with enough space for the two baby seats they had needed when Chenle and Jisung were growing up. He looks up at the exterior of their white stucco house, sparkling proudly in the sunlight. It’s all he ever wanted – a beautiful house and two kids with Mark. And yet, Johnny wishes this happiness could be truly unadulterated and uninterrupted by the occasional tug of uneasiness in his stomach.

Mark comes out of the house juggling Chenle in one arm and locking the front door behind him with the other, all the while chattering talkatively with Chenle. He takes Jisung’s hand easily and leads them towards the car, beaming the megawatt force of his smile on Johnny, and Johnny opens the door, smiling back as he heaves Chenle from Mark’s arms and deposits him gently in the backseat.

Johnny had expected Mark to be a natural father, but Mark had surprised him with how nurturing he could be, how he disciplined their children with soft words and an iron fist. But most of all, Mark had surprised Johnny with his capacity for warmth and gentleness, how fiercely he protected Chenle and how readily he would sacrifice his own life for Jisung’s in a heartbeat. Watching Mark becoming a father, Johnny had fallen in love all over again.

Mark ensures that the boys’ seatbelts are properly fastened before climbing into the passenger seat beside Johnny. He looks back dotingly and teases, “Try not to kill each other back there until we reach school, okay?” and Chenle and Jisung nod like little angels, but the moment Mark turns away their squeals ring out. Mark sighs and laughs fondly, exchanging an exasperated glance with Johnny.

When they stop at a traffic light, Mark makes a muffled noise and Johnny turns in alarm to see him doubled over, threadbare shirt soaked through with sweat. Mark looks up, a weak smile plastered on his face. “I think I’m really going this time. Can you hold down the fort?"

Johnny nods shortly, trying to smile back, when what he really wants to say is that he can’t even hold it together for a minute when Mark’s gone, that he can’t even hold himself together. But he keeps the cheerful smile Mark needs on his face until the seat beside him is empty and his face feels like cracking.

"Where did daddy go?” Chenle leans over the seat, baffled eyes like saucers. Johnny gulps. “He... uhh..."

"Pabo!” Jisung raps Chenle’s head. “Daddy has a superpower. It’s invisibility,” he says proudly.

"Ah, I know!” Chenle yells. “He’s like spiderman, right?"

Johnny shakes his head and laughs reluctantly. He can’t help wishing he could go back to the days when he was as innocent and easily accepting as them, when he still saw Mark’s time travelling as a superpower instead of a hindrance, the days before he had fallen in love with Mark. But then he catches sight of Chenle and Jisung bickering and roughousing in the rearview mirror, laughing gleefully, and thinks, maybe not.

*

42, 41

“What are you doing?” Johnny whispers in Mark’s ear, leaning over the back of the couch where Mark is sitting with his eyes screwed shut and his shoulders set rigidly. Mark jumps, eyes flying open, bashing Johnny’s chin with his forehead. He places a hand on his chest. “You scared me."

"Your head is like a rock,” Johnny complains, rubbing his chin, before he notices the way Mark is breathing shallowly, eyes on his lips. “Did you know that ears are my most sensitive spot?” he asks offhandedly, voice husky.

"Um...” Johnny hedges, starting to flee, but before he knows what’s happening Mark is kneeling backward on the couch, both hands locked around Johnny’s neck as he hauls him down for a rough, hungry kiss. Johnny splays his palms against Mark’s face, straying beneath the neckline of his shirt and flattening against Mark’s chest. His lips curl up in satisfaction against Mark’s mouth as he feels the way Mark’s heartbeat quickens against his hand.

Mark always kisses so confidently, so recklessly that it makes Johnny weak, his tongue darting impatiently along the seam of Johnny’s lips to coax them open effortlessly, then grazing his own experimentally, dizzyingly before entangling them. He tastes like decaf and candy and bittersweet spearmint toothpaste, that unique Mark taste that Johnny can’t get enough of.

Mark bites his lip hard, canines puncturing Johnny’s lip and drawing blood. Johnny is starting to only find out how Mark really likes kissing when they are the same age, on equal terms – bruising and painful, not like the maddeningly gentle way he would hold back when Johnny was still a teenager, no matter how much Johnny wheedled and pushed him. But now, even at forty-two, Mark makes Johnny feel like he’s twenty-four.

He finds out how Mark likes when Johnny slides a possessive hand beneath his shirt, spanning the taut muscles of his abdomen and grazing his nipples. Mark inhales softly and grabs fistfuls of Johnny’s shirt, tongue exploring Johnny’s mouth till he’s panting Mark’s name.

Finally, when they are both gasping audibly for oxygen, Johnny has to physically wrench himself away. Mark looks so breathtakingly dazed and dishevelled, his irises blown pitch black and lips swollen and abused, seeking Johnny’s mouth like a baby bird’s that Johnny impulsively vaults over the back of the couch, nearly crushing Mark as they fall into a tangled heap. Mark makes a muffled oof sound like the breath is knocked out of him, and Johnny hurriedly lifts his weight off him and searches his eyes apologetically. But Mark is grinning wickedly as he braces his hands on Johnny’s shoulders and climbs ungracefully into Johnny’s lap, straddling him with his legs spread. Mark gazes fondly into Johnny’s eyes, tracing circles on his chest with his fingertips as Johnny drags a teasing hand down Mark’s thighs.

"Hyuuung,” Mark whines, pouting. “Don’t tease."

Johnny laughs with more pleasure than he probably should. “What were you doing?” he presses.

Mark sighs, nosing into Johnny’s neck and licking the sensitive skin there with a hot tongue. “I was trying to send myself back to the past."

Johnny’s eyes widen, forgetting the blistering sensation of Mark’s tongue on his neck as he grabs Mark’s shoulders and pins his gaze. “You’ve learnt how to control...?"

Mark shakes his head glumly, but his eyes are steely with determination. “But that won’t stop me from trying."

Johnny softens, feeling an odd pang of jealousy towards his younger self whom Mark is trying so desperately to travel back to, away from his current one. “When do you want to go back to?” he asks, and Mark hesitates but replies honestly.

"The night I told you."

"Oh.” Johnny swallows, realization dawning on him as his eleven-year-old feelings flood back, almost as fresh and raw as that day. “Don’t bother.” He puts on a cheerful smile. “I got over it, didn’t I?” he spreads his hands, reminding Mark of where they are now, that they’re okay.

"I know,” Mark says softly, smiling as he strokes Johnny’s hair off his forehead. “But I’m still worried."

Johnny understands that feeling of frustration that no one in the world except the two of them share, that feeling of hollow helplessness when they are ripped away from each other in the middle of important conversations, heated confrontations, even tender passion. That feeling of being left hanging, like crashing into a brick wall, unable to just turn off their emotions as easily as a faucet. He will never get accustomed to the feeling of being forcibly separated by time and space, with the sinking dread of not knowing when the next time will be, and the uncertainty if he will be able to bear the wait.

*

45, 44

“Mark, wake up,” Johnny hisses urgently in his ear, and Mark groans, rolling over. He squints open his eyes groggily to find Johnny’s hand clamped heavily over his chest.

"I can’t breathe,” Mark complains, voice gravelly with sleep, but Johnny only holds on tighter. “I just realized,” he whispers hoarsely. “I’ve never seen you after forty-eight."

"What?” Mark blinks, still disoriented. Johnny thinks he might be having a panic attack. “The first time I saw you, you were forty-eight,” he grits out. “After that, your age seemed to randomly fluctuate and decrease, but I never saw you older than that first day."

Mark frowns. “How did you know I was forty-eight?” he jokes, trying to lighten the atmosphere. “You must’ve been a little kid. I hardly think I told a brat how old I was."

"I knew because we met when you were forty-six, and you told me your age. Mark, I know you and you looked about two years older that first day. I don’t know why I’m so sure about this, but I am,” Johnny says grimly, and the words finally sink in.

"Oh,” Mark says dully.

"Mark.” Johnny clutches his shoulders tightly, fingertips gripping bruises into Mark’s skin. “What happens after forty-eight?"

Mark meets his eyes, the fear in them mirroring Johnny’s, and Johnny’s heart drops to his stomach. “I don’t know.”

*

48, 47

As he gets older, Mark seems to lose his hold increasingly on the threads that anchor him to their time. Johnny should have known that their two decades of relative stability were too blissful to last long, that they were already a lease of borrowed time. Johnny sees with heartbreaking clarity the toll that each trip takes on Mark, how it saps his energy and leaves him haggard and gaunt. Mark pastes on a smile, not wanting Johnny to worry, but Johnny sees right through his feeble facade.

Johnny knows that Mark doesn’t only travel to Johnny’s childhood – he also travels to other places, other times and countries that are unfamiliar and foreign and possibly dangerous. Johnny sits alone in the vacant house, sick with worry with every passing minute of Mark’s absence, only able to breathe normally again when Mark reappears, looking weary and drawn but relieved.

Johnny wakes up one winter morning to find Mark breathing labouredly and fading in and out beside him, struggling to hold on to his tenuous grasp of their world. When Johnny takes him into his arms, he’s freezing. Johnny rubs his warm palms up and down Mark’s cold back until he stops shivering.

"Minhyung, baby,” he pleads, even though he knows it’s unfair. “Stay with me."

“John,” Mark whispers, eyes half-lidded and voice lost as a child’s. “I’m slipping–"

It’s been more than forty years, but every time Mark goes, he still seems to take a piece of Johnny along.

*

50, 49

Johnny stands in the first pew of the church with his arms around Jisung and Chenle, watching as Mark’s family and friends file past the casket respectfully, each person placing a single white lily, Mark’s favourite flower, on the glass. Mark had always seemed so infallible, so magical to Johnny, appearing and disappearing from Johnny’s life like an otherworldly being. But in death, Mark looks entirely too human, completely mortal. Johnny closes his eyes and wings a prayer that when he opens them he will be lying next to Mark on their sun-drenched bed and Mark will be laughing and teasing him, telling him it was all just a nightmare.

But when he opens them what he sees is Jungwoo and Doyoung on the podium fumbling over the words of their heartbrokenly-composed eulogy, Jungwoo supporting Doyoung when his knees give and he abruptly breaks into an anguished sob. Jungwoo helps an inconsolable Doyoung off the stage, setting off another bout of loud sniffling by the women in the audience, and Johnny knows that it’s his turn, that he should go up and do damage control so Mark’s funeral can remain dignified and respectable.

He shuffles up the stage, looking down at the baleful eyes of the crowd. He’s not surprised that Mark had been loved by so many people, because Mark had always drawn people to him like moths to a flame. He knows he’s not special, that he wasn’t the only one who had been susceptible to Mark’s charm, but Johnny comforts himself in knowing that he was the only one who had been loved by Mark. At least, he was the person Mark had loved most in this world.

Johnny looks at the crumpled and creased paper in his hand, torn from a notebook, the ink blurred and smudged slightly by tear stains. He starts reading but breaks down when he looks into the audience to see Jisung and Chenle clutching each others’ hands tightly, uncharacteristic tears slipping soundlessly down their faces. It’s the sight of their two children swimming in black suits too big for them that does him in, that reminds him most of how much the three of them have lost with Mark’s passing. The words he had planned to say now all seem so artificial, and Johnny can’t bring himself to spout cliche condolences.

He thinks of the earth-shattering truth that not a single soul except himself knows, a tale so outlandish that no one will believe even if he tells them, a proof of a living miracle that had died with Mark. He wants to shout out this secret that he has kept his entire life out on the rooftops, bare it to the whole world. But then it strikes him like a lightning bolt that the sentence _Mark Lee was a time traveller_ is not the only thing he has to say.

Because Mark was so many other things. Mark was a time traveller, but time travelling was not what defined Mark. Johnny takes a deep, bracing breath and opens his mouth.

"I met Mark when I was twenty-one, in my second year of university.” _I met Mark when I was six, and he was forty-eight_. “We were classmates.” _We were strangers who were decades apart_. “We became good friends.” _We became soul mates_. “Mark was a force of nature, as elemental and beautiful.” _He was a force that defied nature_. “He was so vivacious and volatile,” _He was an asshole sometimes, but he could also be an angel_. “and had such enormous appetites for living and loving.” _That it left me shaking_. “Even though we were both boys...” _Even though it was wrong and impossible_... “We fell in love." _We fell in love_. “I proposed to Mark when I was thirty-one.” _I proposed when I was twenty_. “We got married and started a family.” _We adopted two beautiful kids_. “Mark was the best father.” _The best in the world_. “But not only that, he was a beloved friend, son and husband.” _Dearly beloved_.

*

53, 12

Three years after Mark passes away, Johnny thinks that he has joined him in heaven when he sees Mark again, backlit by the buttery yellow light of the afternoon sun, inexplicably looking about twelve years old but still unmistakably Mark.

Then Mark’s words filter over the years, finally making sense to him. _I’ve known you all my life_. Johnny gasps softly as he finally understands the real extent of Mark’s power. It was a truly formidable power, nothing short of a miracle, a gift which transcended death and allowed him to travel out of his lifetime.

Mark is huddled in the corner with his hands over his head like a trapped animal, shaking in his threadbare t-shirt, and Johnny’s heart swoops. He had never expected to see Mark again. Of course, he had wondered, gone through all the what ifs and maybes, but he had never really believed that something so unreal could be a possibility.

But now, Mark is right in front of him, defying all logic and breaking every single rule of time he has ever believed in, and Johnny is not surprised. Because Mark was the beautiful Canadian boy he had fallen in love with, who was a magician of time, a traveller of the ages. Mark had always known that he would return to Johnny, which was why he hadn’t been worried to leave Johnny, knowing he would be well taken care of.

He lifts his weary body up from the armchair, joints creaking. As his footsteps approach tentatively, Mark looks up, shoulders squared to fight and glowering at him, eyes darting from side to side like a cornered prey, but they widen with recognition when he sees Johnny.

"Johnny hyung?” he whispers, and gets to his feet on trembling legs, falling limply into Johnny’s arms.

Johnny strokes his hand up and down Mark’s back until it stops racking with quiet sobs, wondering what horrors Mark must have seen at such a young age to make him so frightened, every sob feeling like a blade into Johnny’s heart. He gathers that Mark must have met him before, and feels grimly relieved and unbelievably happy at that prospect.

A distant memory filters into the back of his mind, like the refrain of a pop song from a faraway house. They were lying together in bed, on another ubiquitous languorous afternoon, and Mark had turned to him with sudden gratefulness in his eyes and said, _I can’t imagine what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been there for me_.

Mark might have been talking about any number of occasions, but Johnny suddenly knows with unaccountable certainty that he was talking about his childhood, where he had met Johnny in his twilight years. And this is how Johnny knows that he has to be patient and understanding, all-accepting, watching over Mark silently the way Mark always watched over him. He wishes he had the chance to tell Mark that he didn’t know what he would have done had Mark not been an integral part of his childhood too, but Johnny comforts himself by cradling the back of twelve-year-old Mark’s head with a tender hand and crooning Mark’s favourite English lullaby into his ear until he falls asleep in Johnny’s arms.

*

56, 7

The greatest regret of Johnny’s life is that he had never managed to figure out the English words Mark had said to him on the very first day they met. Even though he had been well-taught by Mark over the years and is literate in English now, he simply cannot remember. The curiosity is killing Johnny, and his second biggest regret is that he never asked Mark what he had said when he was still living.

The next time Mark appears in his house, Johnny is ready. In the past few years, he has been dedicatedly preparing for Mark’s arrival, always keeping the kitchen well-stocked with Mark’s favourite snacks and redecorating an entire room into a playroom, installing it with state-of-the-art gadgets and the most expensive toys. Johnny finds himself spending more and more time sitting in the room daydreaming, an odd feeling of peace and serenity stealing over him as he indulges in memories of Mark.

He falls asleep in the rocking chair by the window one day, and when he wakes up Mark is perched in his lap, blinking up at him with curious, heartbreakingly innocent eyes.

"How old are you?” Johnny says gently, afraid to move lest this is a dream and Mark will burst like bubbles at a touch.

Mark’s face splits into an artless grin, revealing a missing tooth. He holds up seven fingers.

"Do you want to... play?” Johnny says hesitantly, and Mark nods enthusiastically. Johnny watches with fond tenderness as Mark kills monsters and races cars on the Playstation and Xbox, which are the latest models and probably not existent in Mark’s time yet. Watching Mark’s inexhaustible energy makes Johnny feel alive again, like the way he used to feel when Mark was still around.

Sometimes Johnny wonders – if Mark had been a normal boy who didn’t have the ability to travel through time, would they still have a chance to meet? Or would they remain in two different countries all their lives, so near yet so far, the trajectories of their existences like two parallel lines, bypassing but never intersecting?

Johnny thinks that maybe, just maybe, Mark’s time-travelling might have been a blessing instead of a curse. He had spent his whole life alongside Mark fighting against time, fighting _for_ time, and even though they hadn’t come out successful in the end, Johnny realizes that he wouldn’t have traded it for anything in the world.

*

60, 5

When Johnny wakes up on his sixtieth birthday and sees the child – barely a toddler – curled up beside him on his bed, sleeping soundly with his thumb in his mouth, his heart leaps into his throat. He’s so young that Johnny almost can’t recognize him, can’t believe that this defenceless child – this boy who looks like he’s just learning to walk and talk – is the confident and cocky Lee Minhyung, the love of Johnny’s life. And yet – and yet the boy’s long, dusky eyelashes flutter open, revealing dark, shimmering orbs, ones that Johnny knows with unshakable certainty in the depths of his very bones.

The moment he realizes it’s Mark, Johnny feels a pang of helpless protectiveness. Mark shouldn’t be time-travelling this young – no one should have to, at any age, but definitely not this early. Johnny’s heart clenches as he imagines how frightened and bewildered Mark must have felt, suddenly sucked up by the dark oblivion of time and churned in its unfathomable depths until he landed in a strange old man’s bed. But he is glad that his hands are the ones time has chosen to place Mark in, because till Mark can take care of himself, Johnny will be Mark’s guardian angel the same way Mark had once watched over him.

As he looks down at Mark’s enormous, mournful eyes, Johnny wonders how he will break this life-altering truth to Mark. It’s too big a revelation for someone so frail, so tiny and unequipped to deal with such a crushing blow. Johnny wishes he could protect Mark from all the dangers in the world, buffeting him from the winds and rain, always be his unfailingly safe harbour. But he knows that the only way he can protect Mark is to prepare him in as many ways he can for the difficult years to come.

Johnny knows that even though this is an ending for him, everything is just beginning for Mark. This is how their love song will play – like a ballad on repeat, a broken tape on eternal loop.

Mark starts to cry, making Johnny flustered as he fusses over Mark, stroking his downy head helplessly and cooing wordless soothing murmurs into his ear. Suddenly, Mark’s pudgy hand reaches out and closes in a death grip around Johnny’s finger. He stares at Johnny unblinkingly through mutely entreating tears.

"Mark-yah,” Johnny says hoarsely, and the name seems to miraculously silence Mark’s sniffling sobs, stilling him as he looks up at Johnny with eyes so trusting and familiar that it brings Johnny to his knees.

"Don’t be afraid,” Johnny begins softly, in the halting vowels of the English Mark taught him. “My name is Johnny, and I’ve known you all my life…”

***

48, 6

The last thing Mark sees before he closes his eyes is Johnny at forty-nine, and the first thing he sees when he opens them is Johnny at six. He takes in the scratchy darkness surrounding him, and gets unsteadily to his feet, brushing twigs and leaves off his clothes as he steps out of the shrubbery.

Johnny is staring at him, eyes wide as saucers, and Mark resists the urge to laugh hysterically as he realizes he probably isn’t making a very good first impression, and that the laugh that Johnny will come to find so sexy when he grows up will most likely send him running away screaming now.

Thankfully, Johnny remains unmoving, and Mark sinks into a crouch, meeting his eyes straight on. “Don’t be afraid,” Mark says, trying to telegraph volumes of unspeakable words to Johnny with his eyes, and impossibly, Mark thinks he sees a glimmer of recognition somewhere deep in the pools of Johnny’s eyes as he says his name.

It loosens the floodgates, and Mark’s tongue feels thick and parched in his mouth as he trips over his words, blurting out, “Hyung.” Johnny looks confused and Mark has the sense of mind to switch to English before he continues.

"I was always trying to find a deeper meaning to this, wondering why I kept travelling back to the same place, the same boy. I’ve spent my entire life trying to control my ability, asking myself, _Why me?_ I thought I wanted to know how to stop travelling through time. I didn’t know that what I really wanted to know was how to travel towards you."

It’s only when Johnny reaches out a guileless, tiny hand to brush Mark’s cheeks does he realize that they are wet. Mark is overcome by the sudden, intense need to touch Johnny, this precocious six-year-old child who can already bring an adult to his knees, who Mark is so proud, so ferociously proud of. He can already see in this little boy the man Johnny will grow into – upstanding, compassionate, full of love and generous with sharing it.

A shout rings from the house as Johnny’s nanny calls him in for tea, and Mark drops his hand, stricken. Johnny gazes at him with depthless, searching eyes, and Mark tries to keep his smile undimmed and the sorrow out of his voice as he says lightly, “Run along, then."

He knows that this is the first meeting for Johnny, even though it might be the last for him. First or last? Mark’s mind is getting fuzzy, his consciousness blurring. It’s too early. He looks up to see Johnny flying across the field, like his feet have sprouted wings. Mark smiles and looks down to see his arms ending at his wrists, replaced by thin air.

Mark calls Johnny’s name in a whisper softer than rustling leaves, immediately whipped up by the wind, but Johnny seems to hear it across the distance, his feet halting. Mark lifts his hands to wave, but remembers that they are gone. He tries to curve his lips into one last smile, but his mouth has disappeared too. What is left of him is only his eyes, watching Johnny until the very last second before he is plunged into the swirling darkness of time again. Even when Mark is no longer there Johnny seems to sense his presence, turning around and staring right at the very spot he was, his eyes disappearing in a breathtakingly sweet smile. Mark smiles back with his eyes, before they fade away too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much to every person who invested time and emotions in reading this whole story, and for liking this fic which is very close to my heart. It’s an indescribable pleasure to be able to share this work with such sweet people as the ones who have read this :’) This epilogue is the happy ending referred to in the tags, I truly hope it leaves you happy and satisfied. If you liked this, do check out my zombie fic which has loads more fluff and smut! I’m pretty proud of that work too, and I’m proud of few of my works lol
> 
> [if anyone is waiting for the last chapter of cygmmls, I’m sorry it’s taking longer and I’ll have it up for u asap <3 Also I have an unfinished femslash johnmark from september which I promise and swear will be completed,,]
> 
> [[I’m too lazy to shift the notes at the end of the fic but they were supposed to be for the first chapter so just don’t get confused by the notes at the end lmao]]

80, 34

There it is - the kitten he had as a child. She had lived to a ripe old age, so Johnny’s surprised to see her looking as small as he remembered from childhood.

He calls her name, and she turns in recognition, mewls before slinking away. His eyes follow the direction she’s disappeared, and the air catches in his throat to look up and see an uncanny white stucco house ahead, surrounded by a familiar picket fence, flowers blooming in the front yard. Sparkling pristine in the morning sunlight.

His old heart starts pounding furiously. Looking around, he sees a bridge-shaped rainbow in the far distance, and other houses in the periphery - too far to walk to, with no sign of any other people in the emerald meadow under blue skies. Only this scenery as far as the eye can see. He should feel unsettled, but instead there’s a strange peaceful calm stealing over him.

Is this…

His next thought comes on instinct, already on his tongue before it registers in his brain. He moves, quickly but unsteadily, towards the open door of the house he’d lived in with Mark, Jisung and Chenle since they became a family.

The sound of footsteps makes him stop in his tracks on the threshold. His heart is beating so desperately, he almost loses his breath.

*

“Mark?”

Johnny rubs his eyes, his fingers coming away damp. He blinks away the moisture blurring his vision.

“Johnny.” Mark is smiling fiercely, looking both shy and choked with missing. Johnny can’t help reaching out to touch him, gasping at the solid, warm body he finds.

“Is this…” Shaking, he voices out what he’s thinking. “Heaven?”

Mark laughs, that crystalline sound he knows like the back of his own hand. “I don’t know. But it sure looks like it, doesn’t it?”

“Remember we talked about this?” Mark tilts his head.

Of course Johnny does. They’d, naturally, discussed their ideas of the afterlife somewhere along the years, and agreed they thought it would be someplace wonderful. In fact, one of the possibilities they both entertained had turned out to be the same.

Their eyes lock, and Johnny reads Mark’s thoughts in his sparkling ones without him having to say anything.

 _Mark and Johnny, in the best years of their lives_. It’s only now that Johnny realises Mark looks around his early thirties. He’d known him at every age, so intimately, that it barely registered in the earlier daze.

Abruptly ashamed of his eighty-year-old body, Johnny looks down to find himself at the same age. Young again.

He thinks he might be dreaming, or crying. Possibly both. “But… that was just an old wives’ tale.”

Mark’s grin just broadens, though his eyes look misty to see Johnny bawling too, and he reaches up to thumb the tears away. “Or was it?

“Hush now.” He takes Johnny’s hand. “You should be smiling. I can’t wait to show you around.”

*

Johnny tugs on his hand, making him turn. “Were you… alone all these years? Waiting for me here?”

Mark just shrugs and flashes that beam again, no hint of the arduous decades behind them in it. “It was my turn to wait. Finally, I got to be your guardian angel.”

Johnny finally smiles back, his fingers tightening around Mark’s palm. There’s no argument that Mark was always meant to be an angel, after all. “Come on, J,” Mark murmurs impatiently in English, and then he’s dragging Johnny into his - their - house with childlike enthusiasm.

*

The house is more spacious inside than it seems from the outside. Gentle sunlight in every corner, warm and idyllic, the sweet scent of something Mark’s baking in the kitchen. He offers Johnny freshly brewed coffee - real coffee Mark can finally drink now. It’s delicious. The house is so _Mark_ that Johnny finally believes this is not a dream. It’s filled with the feeling of life, not seeming like Mark had been living alone in it for thirty years - of course, he doesn’t know yet if time moves differently here.

Johnny’s body feels thirty-five again, but he still can’t catch his breath. Still can’t believe after pinching himself. The two of them together, at long last. Nothing else left between them. Not even time.

He feels ashamed to have even doubted their inevitable reunion, though he knows it was only human. Because Mark had taught him everything Johnny knew about love, but most importantly, he had taught Johnny about patience, trust and believing. And so it turned out that as with every other separation, every distance they had to travel to reach each other - it was only a matter of time.

In his last moment of life, before he closed his eyes peacefully, he hadn’t feared - his last thought had been a foolish hope, quashed down quickly by the force of desire behind it. Would he finally, finally see Mark behind the curtain of death, after these three decades of yearning?

And now here he is, even better than Johnny could have imagined - strong, healthy, happy.

*

Mark eventually finishes his tour of the house, with Johnny paying as much attention as he can, trying to listen when all he wants to do is stare at Mark in reverence. Mark turns around, breathlessly, his eyes shining. Looking so beautiful Johnny’s heart flutters in his chest. Mark reaches out a hand to touch his face, caressing his cheek tenderly. He looks so proud of the forever home he’s, with painstaking care, built them.

 _Welcome home. I missed you. Welcome home_.

Johnny closes his eyes, and when he opens them, Mark is still there, his eyes bright with amusement as if he knows what Johnny is thinking. There will never be a time when he’s not able to reduce Johnny to a vulnerable child again, with just a single look. Finally, Johnny allows himself to let out the breath he’s holding and step into Mark’s arms, melting.

Mark holds him tight, whispering honey baby sweetheart in his ear, and in his heartbeat Johnny hears the rhythm of his missing. They had overcome death the way they overcame all the ravages of time that buffeted them across nearly a century - with their humble but abiding love. And Johnny’s relieved but not surprised, because Mark had shown him so much magic and miracles almost nothing seems impossible anymore.

*

When Mark shows him the portholes, he understands why he didn’t seem lonely when Johnny arrived, how he hadn’t gone crazy alone for thirty years in this gorgeous but solitary house.

“Look,” Mark simply says, stepping aside to let him peer into the window, and Johnny inhales sharply to see Jisung and Chenle, fast asleep in Johnny’s bed in this very same house in the mortal world. There are tear tracks drying on Jisung’s cheeks and Chenle’s arm is comfortingly slung over his brother.

“They’re going to be okay,” Mark says quietly. “They know you’re with me now.”

A stone Johnny didn’t even know he was carrying sinks in his chest, leaving him weightless.

“Will they join us here after…?”

Mark smiles, kissing his knuckles. “I hope so too. But that’s their choice, isn’t it?”

Johnny smiles back, finally - finally understanding.

*

Mark pulls at his hand, excitement dancing in his dark eyes again.

“I have one last thing to show you - a surprise.”

Johnny chuckles, letting himself be dragged along, filling up with an incredible, ineffable warmth that threatens to make him sprout wings and float above gravity.

“You’ve been planning this all this time, haven’t you?”

Mark throws back a careless grin. “You know me too well, damn it.”

 _Every day_.

*

To Johnny’s amusement, even their den is identical, each little nook and cranny of the house they spent innumerable happy moments in, achingly familiar.

Mark takes both his hands, stares into his eyes. A nervous smile plays at his lips but his eyes glint like he’s trying not to laugh.

“You said you remember everything about me. Do you remember that line from Twilight we cringed at together?”

“Oh, god,” Johnny groans, and the laughter spills from Mark’s lips.

He does remember, though - they watched so many movies and dramas together, but Johnny remembers all of his favourite parts and the lines that made him cry.

Because it’s Mark.

*

Mark takes a deep breath. Johnny wants to laugh, to put his hand over Mark’s mouth, break away from his earnest, soft gaze because he knows what Mark is going to say.

Fucking Mark and his fucking English and cheesiness -

But unconsciously, he realises he’s already crying again, tears of unadulterated happiness dripping onto their conjoined hands.

_“No measure of time with you would be long enough… but let’s start with forever.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much if you took the time to read this long fic till the end. I really hope you enjoyed, and please leave me a kudos and comment if possible! There is actually a short epilogue which I wrote for the nomin version after readers requested me to, but this took a lot of energy to edit with how long it is so I’ll post the epilogue tomorrow :)


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